Good Until it Hurts
by Arsosah
Summary: Don't talk about reformatory. Don't ask me about what happened. I will never tell anyone about the bad stuff, but the good stuff... that's what really shuts me up.
1. Maybe a Hopeless Case

I'm a little nervous putting this story up, since I'm leaving my "comfort zone" and try a new character, but also because of the subject. I'm aware of that this story won't be for everyone, but I really hope that you will like it. I should give some warnings, but I don't want to give anything away, so...

There will be some grammatical errors. Some because I still have a little problem with English and just don't see them, but also some that are on purpose, since I want it to be Curly's voice. (And yes, I took the freedom to give him a "real" name).

I don't own the Outsiders. I hope you will enjoy, and please review and tell me what you think :)

* * *

**Good Until it Hurts**

**1\. Maybe a Hopeless Case  
**

_It's a worse pain than you can think of. Worse than every blow I can imagine. Slam me into a wall; punch my stomach; break my nose; kick me in the balls; put a knife in me and twist it._

_I know it wouldn't hurt like this. _

_Nothin' can hurt like this.  
_

xXx

The office is too hot and the chair I sit on too hard, making me fidget while I wait. He has other chairs standing tucked in the corner, looking a lot more comfy, but they are for visitors and not guys like me. I bet he likes seeing me squirm, so he can pretend it's because of his stare and not because of my ass getting numb.

He keeps trying to catch my gaze or something, and I keep looking around, even though I know Tim usually says that I should stare them in the eyes and don't show weakness.

_Don't look so fuckin' nervous, Curly!_

I ain't nervous. It's never anything to do with that, but I can't explain why. Maybe I just like to look at things, and Tim ain't here to tell me to stop it either, so I let my eyes roam. Not that I haven't seen it all before; I've been in here plenty of times. But I still look at the bookshelves with the folders and the ugly painting on the wall and the window facing the parking lot. He has some frames on his desk, and I know it's pictures of his wife and kids. Last week I heard about a guy sneaking into his office and drawing mustaches on them, and I think of maybe turning the photos around and see if they're still there. I start to reach out to them, but then Mr. Shaffer starts to talk and I have to drop my hand back.

"I was hoping to not be seeing you again this week, Vincent," he says, breaking the silence. "I was hoping you would stay out of trouble after our last talk."

Why don't he stop calling me into his office then? Then he don't have to see me. I shift on the chair for the tenth time or so, kicking on its leg with the back of my sneaker. I ain't sure why I'm here yet. If it's 'cause of the gum I put in Shelley's hair. Or 'cause I smoked in the back of the gym building. Or maybe 'cause I've been tardy to almost all my classes since school started a month ago, if I show up at all. It's really a lot of things adding up.

But I get to know what it is about when Mr. Shaffer opens his desk and picks up a paper, placing it on the desk between us. I lean forward, looking at it curiously. There's like a million red circles drawn on it.

"This is your latest English assignment."

I start to grin.

"You think this is funny?"

"Nope," I lie, leaning back again, but I can't wipe the smile off my face. I wish I had seen my English teacher's face when she read it. I bet there are words on there she has never heard before. She should thank me. Teachers always nag about the importance of learning new things and I think that should go both ways.

I listen absent-mindedly as Shaffer gives the same boring speech as always, it ain't like I haven't heard it before. He could go straight to my punishment and stop wasting our time, 'cause when he finally gets to it, a weeks detention and another paper to write about _respect and using proper words_ (what the hell _proper _means), all I have to do is nod. I look at my assignment, wanting to take it with me and maybe show it to Tim, but Mr. Shaffer takes it and puts it away.

"Please try to stay away from here next week, okay?" he sighs, but it sounds like he thinks I'm a hopeless case.

"Yeah, sure," I say anyway. Next time he calls me in maybe I should just not turn up. I wait for him to say that I can go, and finally he raises his hand and waves me off. I stand up and shuffle toward the door, but just as I put my hand on the handle, Mr. Shaffer speaks up again.

"And Vincent? You do know you spelled most of those..._words _wrong, right?"

xXx

"We should go smash up his car or somethin'," Davy says nasally as he struggles to keep the blood into his nose. Or at least that's what it looks like, the way he presses his hand against his nostrils like his life depended on it. It don't help much, the blood keeps seeping through his fingers and drops to the ground. "Just to show'im not to mess with us."

"You're stupid," I say, thinking of how Mr. Shaffer's parking spot lies where everyone can see it from the windows. It's not like I _like _getting caught doing things, even if it happens a lot.

"I ain't the one spellin' _fuckin'_ without a C."

"Who says it needs a C?" I grunt. "You say it the same anyway."

"It's rules and stuff, man, you should know it," Davy says, but I know he just tries to put me down. His grades are no better than mine. Besides, who cares about rules other than to break them.

I light up a cigarette, stare at the two boys fighting in front of us, Ben circling around Donnie with his fists in front of his face. Donnie's only twelve but he fights good, especially against Ben who jumps around too much. I guess it helps that the kid is so big, too. I would never agree to fight with him in front of others, and maybe look like a fool when losing to someone two years younger than me.

I actually did once, some years ago. Fought him, I mean. And I guess I lost, too, since I bled the most and was the only one lying cursing on the ground at the end. But nobody saw it and I threatened to beat up his kid brother if he ever told anyone, so he didn't. I don't know if it was because he got scared of what I said or if he just didn't care about his reputation.

"Mom's gonna kill me if I ruin this shirt," Davy complains beside me, looking down at all the red splotches. "Shit. It's the third this month."

"Just put it in cold water," I tell him. "It washes off the blood. I've seen Ma do it plenty."

"You givin' me a fuckin' housewife's advice?"

I scowl at him and he shuts up.

Donnie slams out his fist, hitting Ben right in his jaw. We watch as his head snaps back and he goes down, cursing while clawing at the grass, the other hand checking his chin and mouth and if all his teeth are still in place. Donnie turns his head and grins at us, and I make sure to glare hard enough so he won't dare to ask me if it's my turn now. I ain't a coward, that's not it. One day I'll take him, I'm sure of it, but then it will be a real fight and not just us messing around. In a real fight I can do what it takes to win and no one can say anything about it.

"You know that big house close to that place we used to steal apples when we were kids? With the crazy lady?" Davy says.

"Yeah, why?" I grumble, taking a drag on my cigarette as another kid steps up to Donnie.

"That's where he lives."

"What? With the crazy lady?"

Davy removes his hand with a roll of his eyes. "_No_. The big house. I've seen his car there."

"Who's car?"

Davy sighs and shakes his head. "Who's stupid now? I mean Mr. Shaffer's."

xXx

When I come home from the park that evening there's no dinner. Ma has locked herself into the bedroom again to cry, and Tim sits in the couch, watching something on the TV. Not that he would cook anything anyway, but he could at least drive somewhere and get me a hamburger. But he don't answer when I ask him, and only flips me off when I try to make him lend me his car keys so I can get one myself. Sometimes I wonder what his reason was to teach me how to drive when I was twelve, 'cause he never lets me do it.

"What's up with Ma?" I wonder instead, but he still keeps quiet, so I shrug and go and make myself a sandwich. We're out of both milk and peanut butter but that's okay. I'm used to it. I take my food with me and go back to the living room, sitting down on the arm of the armchair.

"What you lookin' at?"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Tim says, but he don't sound angry. He leans back, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Ma's closed door. "You tell Angie to not disturb her tonight, okay?" When I open my mouth to tell him there's no use 'cause she never listens to me, he frowns. "I fuckin' mean it, Curly."

I only grumble in reply, turning my attention to my sandwich.

Tim leaves shortly after that, and I feel a little hurt that he didn't ask me to come with. I shut off the TV and sit down on the couch, put my feet up on the table and light up another cigarette. Sometimes he's all about bringing me along and treat me like he does his guys, but then he suddenly turns around and seems to only see me like his annoying kid brother again.

I put out the cigarette against the table top and rise. I won't sit home, babysitting Ma and Angie. If he wants someone doing that he can do it himself. But my anger only takes me as far as the door, 'cause when I grip the handle it's like something is holding me back. It's not like he will be mad at me if I walk out, he will probably never even notice it if I make sure to come home again before he does. But maybe it's the sniffs coming from Ma, or that I know Angie sits upstairs by herself and that Pa can come bursting in at any minute, cursing and drunk from the bar. With a groan I go back to the couch and throw myself down on it.

I can't wait to grow up and leave this fucking house.


	2. Smashing Windows

**Good Until it Hurts**

**2\. Smashing Windows  
**

I fucking hate mornings. When the alarm clock goes off I grab my pillow and place it over my head, trying to shut out the noise. From his side of the room, Tim mutters something I can't really hear 'cause of the fabric covering my ears, and then the buzzing finally stops. I hear how he rises and the rustle of clothes, but I stay where I am, too tired to do anything else other than hate the people who decided school should start this early.

"C'mon, Curly, get up." I feel Tim grab my ankle and shake it roughly, not stopping until I irritatingly yank away the pillow and blink up at him.

"I ain't goin' to school today," I grumble. "I wanna drop out."

"Yeah?" Tim gives me a smirk. "What you gonna do instead, bum around and get in trouble?"

"You can talk to your boss," I mutter, for maybe the hundredth time or so, staring up at the ceiling. "You can say I'm sixteen and he'll hire me. He won't care."

As always, Tim ignores it. "Get dressed," he just orders me. "You got five minutes if you wanna ride with me."

With a sigh I drag myself out of bed, finding my jeans and t-shirt on the floor. They ain't so dirty since yesterday, so I put them on along with my sneakers and leave the room. Maybe I should let Tim drive me and then ditch - I'm already in trouble anyway. I have written maybe five words on the paper Shaffer asked me to write and I know he wants me to give it to him today. Problem is that I don't even know where I put it, so I guess I can look forward to another week in detention. That's just great, 'cause I fucking love to spend my days in classrooms.

Downstairs Angie has locked herself into the bathroom as usual, so I ignore my bladder and rummage the cupboards for breakfast. Our table is still filled with dirty dishes since yesterday, so I jump up on the counter to eat - a few crackers and some juice that I found. I drink it straight from the package - it tastes a bit funny, but I'm thirsty, and Pa would kill me if I touched his beers. I guess I can't blame him - I would kill for some eggs and bacon, if Ma ever made it in the mornings. But she's too busy fighting with him in the bedroom.

Tim comes in and starts the percolator, turns his head and shouts for Angela. Then he shakes his head, looks at me and mutters, "Three minutes."

That means I will have time for a cigarette. We smoke indoors all the time, but I prefer to be outside. I don't know why, I just do. So I jump down from the counter and walk through the living room and out the front door. I light up my last cigarette and smoke it, but when I'm finished there's still no sight of Tim and Angie. So I start picking at the chipped paint on the house wall while I wait, trying to decide if it's worth going to school today or not. I guess not.

It takes a lot more than three minutes for them to show up, and when they finally do they're arguing about her make-up. As always.

"Ma lets me wear it," Angie mutters, glaring daggers at Tim as they walk past me. "She even gave it to me. I don't know why you care so much about my lipstick."

"'Cause you're fuckin' twelve years old, that's why." Tim unlocks his car on the curb, gesturing at us to get in. "And I know damn well you lifted it yourself."

Angie bats her eyes. "And who taught me to do that?"

xXx

"What about these?" Davy asks, turning to me with another pair of sunglasses on his nose, their frame white and heart-shaped. I shake my head and burst out laughing, so he gives me a playful shove hard enough that I stumble into the magazine rack behind us.

"Boys!" The old man behind the counter narrows his eyes, and I grab Davy's arm to gain my balance.

"What?" Davy says cocky. "We haveta try'em on, don't we?"

"You break the stuff, you pay for it."

Davy mutters something under his breath and puts the sunglasses away again, and we walk over to the candy bars instead. Picking out a few, we let some of them slip into our pockets, glancing at the cashier so he won't notice. Davy raises his eyebrows at me and I nod.

I wait by the magazines 'til he has dropped his stuff onto the counter, and then I absent-mindedly make my way over to the smokes. Almost all the stores around keep them close to the cashier, making it harder to lift them, but it's all about planning. The old man in this corner shop seems to be aware of the game, though, 'cause he don't stop glaring at me.

"Hey, I want to buy this stuff," Davy says, trying to grab his attention. "How much is it?"

"No. You have to go."

"Geez, I've got money."

For a second the man turns his head down to the candy bars in front of him, and my hand works fast while Davy puts his hand into his pocket and drags up a wrinkled piece of paper.

"Whoops," he grins. "Looks like I forgot my wallet."

The cashier gapes at him and I step up, punching at Davy's shoulder with my fist.

"C'mon, man, they ain't got nothin' in here. Let's go."

I swear, the man goes redder than a tomato, but he's too fucking old to do anything more than shout at us.

"You have to pay for that you know," he growls, turning to the phone on the wall behind him. "I know what hoods like you are up to. If you try to leave I'll call the police!"

"Yeah, that's so scary," I tell him with a grin, grabbing Davy by the sleeve and dragging him along. Out in the streets again I make sure the cashier can see me through the window as I pick up the pack of Kools I slipped into my pocket while he wasn't looking. He won't do anything. He can try to call the fuzz, but we will be long gone before they show up and he knows it.

"Stupid fucker," Davy says, taking a cigarette from me.

We go to the park 'cause that's where we mostly hang out when ditching school. We can't be at my house and Davy has a million younger siblings running around, so we mostly avoid his place, too.

I leap up on a bench to sit on top of the back, squinting a little in the sun as we share the candy bars. It's lunch-time and I'm real hungry, but the chocolate almost don't help at all. I wish I had asked Tim about some money this morning, but then he probably would have figured I planned to ditch and he would argue about it. Sometimes I don't know what's up with him and school, 'cause he left as soon as he could, and before that I know he ditched a lot, too.

"I'm bored," I say, throwing away the last candy bar wrapper and watching it land in the grass. "I wish we had a car."

Davy turns his head to look at me, and then we both start to grin.

xXx

Cursing loudly I walk inside the house, pressing my t-shirt hard against my forehead. It hurts like hell, and I can't even focus my gaze on something before I feel nauseous. This is so stupid - I know I shouldn't have let Davy drive, he always forget that car's have brakes. It ain't like I don't want to go fast, but sometimes you have to stop, too.

In the bathroom I slowly lower my hand, dropping the shirt to the floor to look at the wound across my eyebrow. It looks nasty, but at least it seems to have stopped bleeding.

"Shit, Curly, what happened?"

"Nothin'," I mutter, turning on the tap in the sink to wash myself off.

"You got blood everywhere," Angie says happily. "You get beat up?"

"No."

"Did ya lose?"

"_No_. Fuck, it wasn't a fight, all right?" I turn around and put my hand on her shoulder, pushing her backwards out of the bathroom. "Go play with your dolls or somethin'."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't play with dolls anymore."

Like I care. I slam the door shut in her face, then have to lean my shoulder against it as the world starts to spin. But it calms down soon enough, and I turn to the sink again, starting to wash my hands and face. I take the towel hanging on the hook on the wall, wetting a corner of it and clean around the wound, too. I look in the cupboard to see if we have some band-aids, but we got nothing. Not even a fucking aspirin for the pain.

It's not that late, not even dark outside, but I decide to crawl to bed anyway. I must have fallen asleep pretty fast, 'cause I don't remember anything more until Tim wakes me up again, but this time a lot gentler than he does in the mornings. As soon as he sees that my eyes are open, he grabs my chin and tilts my head, to look at my eyebrow.

"I'm all right," I mutter, pushing his hand away.

"Angie says you got jumped." He sits down on my bedside, and I push myself up to sit, too, frowning as the room starts to spin again. But then I stop, 'cause it only makes the throbbing worse.

"I wasn't."

Tim sits quiet. He knows me too well, 'cause when he is like that, for some reason I always start to babble sooner or later. And now I'm fucking tired and just want him to leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.

"Davy drove the car into a fuckin' stop sign and I hit my head against the window. That's all."

"You don't have a car."

I don't answer to that, 'cause he already knows how we got it. There's only one alternative, really.

"Someone see you?" he probes instead.

I snort at him. "I ain't stupid." I lift my hand and put my fingertips against the wound. "'Sides, you've done it, too."

"Difference is I don't get caught a lot."

"We weren't caught either. I said no one saw us."

"This time," Tim says. "You've done a lot of stupid shit, Curly. How many times did we have to come an' get you down at the station this summer?"

I shrug, even if I know it's five times. But who cares about it, it was just some smaller things - two times shoplifting and two times 'cause of fighting, then that time we scared some elderly people on the bus, but that was an accident. We weren't even _arrested_ then, just hauled in so they could call our parents.

"Just start to use that thick head of yours," Tim says, starting to grin, snapping at my forehead with a finger. "For other things than smashin' windows, okay?"

* * *

_Sorry it took a while to put this up. Thank you so much for reading, reviews are really appreciated :)  
_


	3. Better This Way

**Good Until it Hurts**

**3\. Better This Way  
**

"Vincent Shepard."

Startled by the sudden voice I jerk my head up, just to find Mr. Shaffer standing at the bottom of the stairs. He's staring hard at me, and I hurry to rip the cigarette out of my mouth and throw it away.

"Hey, Mr. Shaffer," I say sheepishly, 'cause school started about fifteen minutes ago. I really thought everyone was inside already, making it safe to sit by the front doors and smoke for a while without anyone noticing. But I guess I was wrong.

"You're not in class?" Mr. Shaffer starts to climb up the stairs, and I get up on my feet and move out of the way so he can walk past me.

"I was goin' to," I lie, shuffling after him as he holds up the door for me, but I stop just inside, unsure of what to do now. I haven't been here for a week 'cause of my head, and maybe some other things like not wanting to go, and it feels weird that he don't grab me by my collar and drag me to his office for another punishment.

"Well, go on," Mr. Shaffer says, but I linger by the door, pushing my hands down into my pockets.

"Vincent, go to your class room!" He sounds impatient this time, gesturing with his hand down the empty hallway.

"Fine," I mutter. I start walking, but not so fast since I don't really remember where I'm supposed to be. It's Thursday so... I think it's English. Just great - that teacher really hates me.

I hear Mr. Shaffer's steps behind me, and when we walk past the stairs up to his office he still don't turn away, and that makes me even more irritated. He don't have to follow me, I'm going, ain't I? I reach the door I think is the right one and rip it open, walk inside the room without a word. I go straight to my place in the back and plop down on the chair, growling a "What?" when I hear my name being said again.

"You got something to say to me?" Ms. Harris wonders, tapping her fingers against her teacher's desk in the front.

I just stare at her, 'cause I didn't hear any question, and I don't think I could answer anyway. She always asks me the hard ones, and I think she do it on purpose, too. Just like she always makes me read out loud when she knows I have some trouble with that.

"You're late," she states. "When someone is late, you excuse yourself for interrupting." A lot of kids has turned their heads to look at me, but I glare back at them 'til they turn around again.

"Sorry I'm late, then."

She looks like she has swallowed a lemon or something. "Pick up your book, chapter three page twenty-five and start reading the first paragraph."

"I don't have a book."

"I gave you a book in the beginning of this semester." Her eyes narrow behind her thick glasses, I can see it all the way from where I sit, but I just lean back in the chair, saying nothing. She can either ask someone else to lend me a book, throw me out or let me be, and I don't care what she do, as long as it's not the first.

"Next time bring it to class, or I will give you a fee for it," she finally decides sourly. I just smirk at her as she turns to some other poor guy and asks him to read for her, thinking that if I had any money, she would be the last person I would give them to.

xXx

I'm in a really bad mood when school is over. Mr. Shaffer pulled me into his office at the end of the day, just when I thought he wouldn't bother. But it wasn't his usual lecture this time, instead he tried to threat me to start to show up at my classes and do what I'm told in school, or else he would have to take actions. He asked if I don't want to be able to move up to High school some day, and I told him no, that it don't matter, 'cause I couldn't tell him the truth. I really don't want to be held back another year and make the other guys in school think I'm even dumber. I know I don't read so good and it's a lot I don't really get when my teachers talk... so maybe it's true, then. Just that others don't have to know.

So it all turned into a lot of cussing (from me) and he trying to be a moron, saying he will call my parents for a meeting tomorrow. He hasn't called home for years, knowing they don't care what I do anyway, so I don't know why he thinks they will show up this time. But if they don't, it won't be fun for me. That's what he said. Maybe not the exact words, but I got his point.

Of course I run into Ponyboy Curtis on the way home. It ain't his fault, I know that, but it's weird that even if he's a year younger than me, he will move up to Will Rogers next year and I won't, 'cause he was bumped up a grade almost the same time I was held back. Guess that makes him a genius or something. At least he don't mock me, I don't think he ever would 'cause he's kind of nice, even if almost always quiet. Not that anyone would mock me to my face - they would lose some teeth if they did.

I walk a little faster until I have caught up with him.

"Hey Curtis," I say, and he snaps his head around to look at me, looking relieved when he sees that it's me. Maybe he thought I was a Soc sneaking up on him. He carries an awful lot of books, and I nod at them. "You got that much homework?"

"Uh, I was at the library," he says. Then real quiet, "It ain't homework."

I stuff my hands into my pockets, nodding like I get it. But I don't. It would take me years to read all those books, and I would hate it the whole time. I don't understand how people can read for fun.

"What you doin' later?" I ask him instead, and he shrugs with one shoulder. "Me and some of the guys are hangin' out at the park. You could come."

I don't really know why I'm asking. It ain't like he has some tough reputation, but I know who his brothers and friends are, and I know he hangs out with Dallas Winston sometimes. And I think it might look good, too, if I have some smarter friend. Then people could think I do bad in school 'cause I don't give a damn, not 'cause it's too hard. Even if it's both.

He's still quiet, so I add, "You can bring that other guy, too. The black-haired one."

"Johnny."

"That's right. So you comin' then?"

"Yeah, I might," he says. "After dinner and stuff."

We come to the street where he has to turn to get home, and we talk a little more until he mentions his mom will wonder where he is if he don't come home soon, 'cause he forgot to tell her about going to the library.

"That must suck," I tell him, and he looks a bit bewildered at me. "To have someone supervising you all the time," I explain.

He just laughs at that, and then he says bye and turns into his street. I stand there looking after him, not knowing why I suddenly feel a bit empty. But then I try to shake it off - it's much better my way. To come and go as I want, with no nagging about school and no questions about nothing. It's a lot better to only have Tim, 'cause even if he pretends he wants to know everything, he never really asks anything either.

xXx

I have never liked Gene Barnes. The only good thing about him is the booze he always brings when we meet up, so I guess I can stand the guy because of that. I just have to stay away from him, so I won't start a fight when he starts bragging about his second cousin being a River King - or at least he was before he went to jail. It annoys me to hell, 'cause it don't make _him _a part of that gang, and definitely not make him some kind of leader of our group of friends. But he seems to think so.

Too bad some of the others seem to think that, too, 'cause they are all sucking up to him when he hands around whiskey bottles and on rare occasions some joint that don't make me feel nothing.

I sit grumbling with Davy on one side and Ponyboy and his friend on the other, watching the rest listen to one of Gene's stupid stories. I bet he makes half of it up - he never beat down two Socs by himself and stole their wallets. But the little kids like Brian and Jimmy seem to swallow it all.

I close my eyes and take another gulp from the bottle I'm holding, feeling it burn less down my throat than the gulps before. I'm pretty drunk. Davy's always too careful about drinking 'cause of his ma getting crazy if she finds out, and Pony and Johnny only wanted a sip or two, not wanting to come home with smelling breaths. But it means more for me, so I don't complain.

Okay, so I do complain a little when Davy starts to bring up school and wonder what Shaffer said to me, since I'm so fucking quiet about it. I know I use to tell him what that idiot goes on about when I'm in his office, but this time - I mean, what can I say? Davy's in the same grade as Pony, they won't understand.

"He said nothin', all right?" I mutter. "The usual stuff."

"He must have said somethin'," Davy persists. "You're so pissed."

"So? I can be pissed about other things." I raise the bottle again, drink what's left of it and throw it away. It don't come so far. Then I struggle to get up on my feet, having to put a hand on Davy's shoulder to do so.

"Where you goin'?" he wonders, but I don't turn my head, 'cause if I do I'm sure I would drop.

"You said where he lives."

"Hey, wait up!"

The three of them come after me, but they don't stop me as I thought they would. They just walk beside me as we leave the park, and I throw up twice on the street, glad that Gene didn't see it. But I feel a little more sober after, especially since the air is kind of cold.

We're about halfway there when Ponyboy starts with his having to go home again, 'cause it's apparently a school night and he has a curfew. I tell him to screw it, who cares, right, not my ma and pa, but he don't say anything, just looks at Johnny for support.

"See you some other time, Curly," Johnny says quietly, and I want to flip them off but I don't.

"Yeah, whatever."

At least Davy stays. And he better, 'cause it was all his idea, wasn't it, to show Shaffer not to mess with me.

* * *

_Thank you for reading and reviewing, and sorry for the grammar mistakes that are not on purpose.  
_

_To Shirley Fry - I know there are writers who call him Charles in their stories, but Hinton never gave him any other name than Curly. So it gives us the freedom to choose if it's his real name or a nickname - and if we want, make up a name for him. I see Curly as a nickname, and I will keep calling him Vincent, since I like that name and think it fits him :)_


	4. Bad Boy

**Good Until it Hurts**

**4\. Bad Boy  
**

Tim's real quiet as we drive home. Ma don't say anything either, but I didn't think she would - she's only with him 'cause Tim ain't eighteen yet and can't bail me out himself. I know she hates to leave the house, especially when she has bruises on her face, and if Tim had let her I'm sure she'd rather let me stay at the station than come and get me.

I sit in the backseat, licking at the wound on my lip and rubbing my wrists a little, trying to pretend I don't see Tim looking at me through the rearview mirror. I know I screwed up a bit yesterday, but so what? It ain't like I planned it to happen. Not the other part with the fuzz, at least. But it's obvious what he's thinking, and I wish that he didn't, 'cause it makes me think of it, too.

As soon as he has parked on the curb I'm out of the car, passing Angie at the front door on her way to school. She wrinkles her nose at me, saying something I can't hear since I slam the door shut after me. Up in my room I rip off my t-shirt, trying to decide if I want a shower first or sleep, but then I think sleep is better. I didn't get any last night 'cause of the moron in the next cell - he just kept crying and cussing and wouldn't shut up.

The door opens and Tim steps inside, still watching me with that expression. I sit down on my bed, wishing he could just leave me alone. But it's his room too, although it's morning, and he shouldn't be here.

"I thought you were supposed to go to work," I mutter, starting to rub at my wrists again.

Tim cocks an eyebrow. "I was. But I got a phone call yesterday, sayin' I had to come and get my brother."

I glare at him. "If they called yesterday, why did you let me spend the night?"

"You had trouble with that?" He smirks at me, and I snort, turning my gaze down at the floor instead.

"No. I don't care." Only that I do. I hated it.

"You know I can't get Ma to come with that late." He leaves the doorway and steps up to me, crouches down. "Let me see that."

I stop rubbing my wrists. "It ain't nothin'," I tell him. I know I shouldn't have struggled like I did, but I was drunk, and it ain't that bad, just a little bruises and tearing where the handcuffs cut my skin off. It's more itching than hurting anyway.

"What about your mouth?"

I shrug. The cut on my lip might have happened when the cop tackled me when I tried to run, or when he threw me onto my stomach over the hood of their car as he arrested me, I ain't sure. I ain't sure what Tim is thinking either, 'cause he holds his face blank now.

"Better get used to it." He gets up on his feet again, looking down at me. "Sleepin' someplace else. They gonna lock you up this time, Curly."

"How do you know?" I try. "I heard Mr. Shaffer sayin' he won't press charges."

Tim just shakes his head and snorts like I don't get it. But this time I do, more than he thinks.

"I'm tired," I mumble. "I'm gonna get some sleep." And I lie down and drag the cover over my head, 'cause I don't want him to see I feel a little freaked out about maybe going to be sent away.

xXx

I try to think of the good things about going to juvie. Like my rep. I'm mostly known as Tim's little brother, and I hate that sometimes. Everyone just compare us, and 'cause Tim is Tim, I always lose. I'm younger, not as smart as him, or a leader like him, and I don't have my own gang. Not that I want to - I want to be with the Shepards, 'cause I mean, I should be. I'm a Shepard as much as him. But the rare times he lets me come with when they meet up, he don't really involve me. Only in fights and stuff, but it ain't like he treats me like I ever gonna be his right hand. It's obvious to me, and it means it's obvious to everyone else, too. But that might change now.

Some of his guys has been in reformatory before, and I know they don't come home as better people. Like John, who went in for a couple of months half a year ago, he tells me if I just show'em I ain't someone to mess with, it will be a good experience. He says the worst stuff are the early mornings and the food, and the ones treating you like you need charity.

I don't want to seem nervous and ask a lot of things, so I just sit silent, sucking on my cigarette and hoping he will tell me some more. And he do. He says to make sure not to piss off the guards too much, 'cause they don't forget anything, and to hide my smokes if I can get a hold of any, then he sits quiet for a while, tapping his hand against his knee. But then he seems to decide something, and he lowers his voice a little and leans in closer.

"And don't, ya know... don't be _alone_ in there. Some stuff's goin' on..." He trails off, hurries to add, "But you'll be alright, Curly."

I wait for him to explain what he means, but he only leans away again and puts a new cigarette into his mouth.

I still feel a little weird when it's time to go to court. Ma don't come, but strangely, Pa does. Maybe 'cause they said I have to have a parent with me, but I'm still surprised he ain't so drunk that he forgot.

I know Tim would prefer we took his car, but he rides with us anyway in Pa's, sitting in the backseat with me, listening to Pa calling the fuzz all the bad names he can think of. But he also says it was great I kicked that fucker good when he arrested me. I ain't so sure about that anymore, but I can't change that it happened, just deal with what happens next.

I have my own attorney that the court chose for me, and we met once last week. He's an old, bald guy, wearing a wrinkled suit and looking tired. He calls me Victor first, and I tell him my name is Curly, not fucking Victor.

"It's Vincent," Tim says, frowning at me. But what? The stupid guy should have remembered my name if he's going to defend me.

"Right. Vincent," my attorney says. "Well. Your case will be up in twenty minutes. Anything you wonder about?"

I shake my head and sit down on one of the benches lining the hallway. He told me the first time we met how this is supposed to go - I should tell the truth and plead guilty since they have witnesses and I was caught at the scene, so if I say I'm innocent they will just penalize me harder.

I don't ask how hard he thinks they will penalize me if I do what he says.

It ain't a lot of people in the court room. There are some guys in suits, the cops that arrested me, Mr. Shaffer and a few other people. I look for the jury but I don't find any.

"Where's the jury?" I ask the attorney, but he just looks at me like I'm dumb.

"There is no jury in juvenile court," he says shortly.

So I sit a little easier in my chair. No jury means no real trial, right? So maybe it won't be so bad. I throw a glance over my shoulder and see that Tim and Pa are the only ones watching from the benches in the back.

We have to stand up when the judge comes in, and then sit down again, and after a little talking the judge looks at me and starts to ask me all these questions about the night a couple of weeks ago, when I trashed Mr. Shaffer's car and assaulted a police officer. He asks about Davy, or he don't say his name 'cause they don't know who was with me, only that a neighbor to Mr. Shaffer - the one calling 911 - said he saw two boys on the driveway.

Like I'm going to tell on him. I say it was only me, that the neighbor must have seen wrong, and then I glance at my attorney 'cause he must know it's a lie. But he don't even react, just flips through some papers lying on the table in front of him.

"Mr. Shaffer is the principal at your school, Cleveland Junior High," the judge says. "I know he has called you into his office multiple times during your time in school. Is this why you chose to vandalize his car?"

I glance at Mr. Shaffer, remembering how he told the cops to take it easy with me when the cops arrested me and he saw that I was bleeding.

"I was just drunk," I say, looking back at the judge. "I don't remember why I did it."

"Drunk? You're fourteen years old. Where did you get the liquor?"

I press my lips together, starting to think that maybe it's better I shut up.

They talk to Mr. Shaffer but he only seems to feel sorry for me. He says I'm not a bad kid, but that I might need some help to get into the right tracks of life and that he don't think them arresting me will help me with that.

But it seems they don't care so much about his slashed tires and smashed headlights. It seems they think the worst is that I kicked the cop in the balls. They don't say balls, but I'm sure I hit him there. Or maybe I didn't, but they talk about it a long time, and the cop says I tried to get away and was really struggling against my arrest and tried to assault both him and his colleague.

I roll my eyes at that, 'cause who wouldn't? So suddenly they seem to think I'm dangerous, too, not just a troublemaker with all the shoplifting and fights I've been in the last summer.

It's kind of unfair, though. All the times before they have let me go and haven't done nothing about anything, and now suddenly they start to talk about my _record_, how I keep getting into trouble and being arrested and that it can't keep happening. I squirm in my chair, and every time I try to place my arms on the table in front of me, the stupid attorney nudges me hard with his elbow.

The judge keeps asking me questions about my other arrests, but I mostly answers like "I don't know" or "I don't remember". My attorney tries to make me look like a good kid anyway, saying stuff about my family like it's my parents fault who let me run around and do what I want, and that really pisses me off. He shouldn't talk like that about them. It seems to make it worse and not better, too, 'cause then the judge says maybe I need someone else to look after me for a while. And _bam_ -

I've got three months in juvie.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! I hope the court scene came out realistic, I have to admit I'm not really sure how it works... _


	5. Welcome to Juvie

**Good Until it Hurts**

**5\. Welcome to Juvie**

After I've gotten my sentence they put me in some cell at the courthouse. It ain't no bars there or anything, just a door with a hatch they keep open, and the only thing in it is a hard bench attached to the wall. So I have nothing to do more than either sit down or pace, and I do the latter, kicking at the wall every time I have to turn and walk in the other direction. It's just a small space, so it don't even take five steps.

Three months. That's all I can think of. Three months. But I can do that, be locked up for that time. Just that when I count on it, I realize I won't be home for Tim's birthday, or thanksgiving, or Christmas, _or _fucking New Years Eve.

Not that I care about thanksgiving and Christmas. It ain't like we celebrate any of it that much anyway. Ma will make a turkey and Pa will yell at her for destroying it no matter how it tastes, and maybe smack her around for it if he's in a bad mood, and then it will be as it always is. So I couldn't care less if I'm there or not. But Tim's birthday... it's only a few weeks left. He will have a hell of a party, turning eighteen and all, and I will miss it. That _really _sucks.

Same with New Year, 'cause I figure they don't drink until their heads fall off in juvie. Maybe I can hope for someone getting their hands on some weed, but I don't know if that's even possible.

So no drinks, no joints, no parties or cruisings or nothing. No school but that's the only good thing. Only I guess they maybe have school in juvie. But then it probably won't be any chance to ditch.

I plop down on the bench, lying down on my back and rest one leg over the other, to stare up at the ceiling. The locked door has start to bother me, same as the thought of not being able to just walk away or do what I want for _three fucking whole months._ It's ridiculous, right? I didn't even do anything. Almost. Okay, so maybe I did a little, but nothing that's worth being locked up for.

I stand up and walk up to the hatch, looking out. A guy in some guard uniform stands leaning against the opposite wall, and I call out to get his attention.

"I need to piss," I tell him as he comes closer to see what I want, and he sighs and reaches for the keys in his belt, telling me to step away from the door.

"Hold out your arms," he says after unlocking it, and then I'm handcuffed again. But at least not behind my back this time.

He takes me to a nearby restroom. I wait for him to uncuff me, or at least leave me alone in there, but he don't, and it feels really awkward when I have to pull down my fly and take care of business while he stands watching.

Guess if I knew then what they would do once I came to juvie, I wouldn't see it as _that _bad.

xXx

They take me out into the country, and closer to it, the juvenile detention really looks like a prison - brick buildings with bars in the windows are standing inside of high fences with barbed wires on top. I would lie if I say I don't start to feel even more nervous when I see it, but I don't show it. I know that's the most important thing to do, hide if you're nervous or scared or whatever. You just don't show that in a place like this. So I put a smirk on my face as a guard takes me out of the car and leads me inside, holding a tight grip around my upper arm.

There's some kind of reception where they check me in, and then I'm taken to an almost bare room with two other guards. The first guard takes off the handcuffs and leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Stand against the back wall," one of the others barks immediately, and I almost jump in surprise, but I do as he says and back up, until I'm standing just in front of them.

"Empty your pockets."

"I don't have anything in them," I say, but they keep staring at me until I turn the pockets inside out to show them.

The guard nods. "Take off your clothes."

I blink at him, thinking I must have heard it wrong. "Uh... what?"

He smirks at me. "Take off your clothes. One at the time and hand them over slowly."

I give him a long stare, hesitating. "Here?" I ask, trying to sound more secure than I feel. 'Cause this room is like, grey concrete, and there is nothing more in it than me and them and a small table in the corner.

"No, in the fuckin' White House. C'mon, we ain't got all day."

I still don't move, 'cause they can't really mean I will have to take my clothes off in front of them, shouldn't they walk out or something, but then they stare at me even harder and one of them moves his hand down to his baton. I don't want to start my time here with a beating, so I start to fumble with my shirt and drag it over my head, holding it out for them. The quiet one takes it and starts to examine it closely, but I guess he don't find anything satisfying, 'cause then he just folds it and puts it in a paperbag. They do the same with my t-shirt and jeans and socks and yeah... my boxers. When I don't have anything else to take off, I cross my arms in front of me, putting my chin up, trying to show that I'm not bothered.

But of course I am, especially when they start to throw orders at me.

"Stand straight, hold out your arms and wiggle your fingers."

"Turn your face to the left, bend your right ear forward."

"Open your mouth. Lift your tongue."

At least they don't touch me or anything. It feels humiliating as it is, what I have to do to show I ain't hiding drugs anywhere on or inside my body. So when I'm finally taken to the showers I turn my back at them, feeling totally drained, knowing they're still watching every move I make. And there's nowhere to hide more than to try to cover myself with the soap and the water.

John never told me any of this, but I guess it's not something you talk about, that people will stare at you nude. Maybe everyone knows it already, figuring it out by themselves it will happen, and he thought I would do to. But I didn't. I guess I just don't think about the right things when thinking about stuff.

I feel better once I've gotten my uniform, grey pants and a white sweater, but they ain't done with me yet. I have to wait for a while to get my snapshots and fingerprints taken, and it's another guard watching me this time. He's not much older than Tim, a big guy with a big nose, looking like a total moron. I ignore him where I sit, dragging a hand through my still wet curls, trying to untangle them and smooth them down a bit. My hair gets so messy after a shower, I always need a lot of grease to make it look good again.

"Itchin'?" the guard asks me suddenly, and I drop my hand, looking up at him as he wrinkles his nose. "Wouldn't surprise me, I know where guys like you come from. It's like rat holes, your filthy shitplaces."

"Yeah, you should know, your ma still lives next door," I mutter, and his scorn turns to anger.

"Funny," he snaps.

"That's what she said." I brace myself for his comeback, if it will be with words or fists, knowing it's probably stupid of me to get soucy with a guard. And I think he thinks so, too, 'cause he takes a step forward. But instead of jumping me, he leans down to stare into my eyes.

"You know what ain't funny, though?" he smirks.

I don't answer him, but that don't stop him from continuing.

"Lice. If one filthy kid has it, everyone here gets it. You know what we do to keep them away?"

"Why should I care, I don't have lice."

"You think they care to look if I say I saw you sittin' scratchin' your head?"

"I didn't scratch my head!"

He leans back against the wall again, hooking his thumbs in his belt, grinning bigger now. "Touchy subject, huh? You greaser kids sure like your hair. Betcha you would cry for mommy if we gave you a buzz cut. Ain't that so?"

I have to bite my tongue to not say anything back at him this time, and he keeps smiling that smile, looking real pleased with himself.

xXx

Taking snapshots and fingerprints and going over the rules should be easy, comparing to everything else. But as they move me around again, showing me where to stand and where to look when they take my pictures, and where to put my fingertips on the paper, I really have to strain myself to not lash out in any ways, 'cause I know I would be the one losing if I did. I already have.

Most people maybe wouldn't care about it, getting shaved, but it's all the things adding up that starts to get to me. It's a lot worse than I tought, being here, 'cause every time I open my mouth to say something, someone snaps at me to shut up, and they look at me like I'm dirt. Kinda used to it from other people back in town, but there I can always fight back, show them I ain't no one to mess with, that if they want a fight they can have one. Here, I won't even be able to piss without permission. Here, they cut your hair just because they feel like it.

I have only been here for a few hours, and I feel pretty homesick already.

* * *

_Sorry for grammar mistakes. And every other mistake. I have done a lot of research, but mostly/only find stuff on how it is in juvie today, not in the 60s. And some things I have made up, too. But I hope it came out okay anyway. Please leave a review and let me know what you think :)  
_


	6. First Night, First Morning

**Good Until it Hurts**

**6\. First Night, First Morning**

This is a fucking blast, ain't it? The mattress in my bunk is so thin I can't find any way to lie so the slatted frame won't dig into my bones, and it's cold in here, and too light, and too many guys snoring and farting and wheezing. I guess sharing a room with ten bunk beds in it is a lot better than being locked up by myself in a cell, but still- I'm used to share a room with only Tim, and all this crap makes it hard to fall asleep.

With a sigh I turn to my back again, staring at the bottom of the bunk above me. I really hope it won't break so the big guy sleeping up there will fall down and crush me, but that ain't what bothers me the most. It's the bad feeling from before that won't leave me alone, and I feel really wretched 'cause of it. I thought I was tougher than this - I haven't felt this way since I was a kid and got spanked; on the verge of tears but knowing it would just get worse if I bawled. What is fucking wrong with me? I bet Tim wouldn't feel like this, wouldn't almost embarrass himself if he ended up here. No one I know would.

And then I tense 'cause I hear some muffled noise, and for a second I think that it comes from me, that I wasn't able to hold it in anymore. But when I realize it's someone else, I lean up on my elbows instead, feeling both relieved and confused.

"For fuck's sake, Jake, shut up!" a voice hisses, and the guy in the bunk next to me presses his face down into the pillow and drags the blanket over his head.

"It ain't Jake this time, it's the new guy."

I quickly turn around, look to my left and see another guy standing on the floor between our bunks, smirking at me.

Maybe I ain't the only new guy, but I know he meant me. And maybe it should have made me feel even worse, being singled out and accused of crying when I wasn't, but truth is, I almost feel better when I see the challenge. I fly up from bed, clenching my fists.

"What did you say?" I growl, taking a step closer so he has to back away. He don't get far, though, 'cause his bunk stands only a few feet from mine. For the first time I'm actually glad they haven't turned off all the lights in the ceiling, 'cause it means I can size him up - a little older than me but not much. Taller but kind of chubby, and the fact he stepped away is a good sign. I can take him, easily.

"Wasn't that you, snif-"

I don't let him end the sentence, 'cause there is no way I'm gonna let anyone give me a bad reputation here, and especially not the first night. So I punch him in the face when he's not prepared for it, then in his stomach so he grunts and falls onto his bed, smacking the back of his head in the top bunk as he goes down.

"Shit," I hear him mutter as he tries to fend himself from me, placing one hand against my chest and slugging my face a couple of times with the other. I hardly feel it, I'm so into the fight, almost feeling like myself again. I know I can make my time in here now, know I ain't weak. They haven't put me down yet, and they never will. Another punch and his nose starts to bleed, another one in the same spot, another one and he starts to curl up instead of fighting back.

I throw the last one into his ribs, then back away from him, shaking my hand a little. Both my eye and knuckles start to throb as my heartbeats go down, and I take some deep breaths and swallow. I'm suddenly aware of the silence in the room, but even more so of the steps in the corridor outside, and the key that is put into the door lock.

xXx

It feels like I've only slept for a second when a shrill signal sounds through the room. I rub my good eye while cursing, 'cause six AM is fucking way too early to have to wake up. But it don't seem to bother the others that much, 'cause they have already started to climb out of their bunks without complaining.

"Hey, you! Get out of bed! Now!" A guard stands just inside the open door, glaring at me, and I sigh and sit up, forcing myself to swing my legs over the side. The guy next to me throws a glance at me as I almost bump into him when I stand up, his face all blue and swollen.

"What are you lookin' at?" I mutter. He quickly looks away again, and if I wasn't so tired I would have grinned.

"No talking!" the guard shouts, and I turn to my bed instead, trying to remember how it's supposed to look like to make them pleased with it. Yesterday it bugged me to get the bottom of the bunk, but when I see how the guys with top beds struggle to make them look okay, I feel it maybe ain't so bad anyway. But I'm still one of the lasts to finish fixing it up. At least no one tells me to redo it this time, as the big nosed guard forced me to yesterday. He just pointed at wrinkles here and there, and ripped up the sheet again countless of times, telling me to do it better. But what did he expect, I've never made a bed before. At home I just leave it as it is, or Ma fixes it up for me.

As they wait for everyone to get ready, the ones already finished stand in front of their beds, staring straight forward with their hands behind their backs. I do as they do, when a second guard comes standing with the other, barking out an order for us to form a line.

We're taken to the showers first, and everyone starts to undress so I do too, even if it brings back the memories from yesterday. But at least I'm not the only one getting naked this time, and the guards don't stand staring like they did then - instead they stand against one of the walls, talking to each other and ignoring us.

Everyone else is quiet, and I wonder if it's some kind of rule, that we ain't supposed to speak in here. I see how all the guys really try to avoid to look at each other, and I do the same, keeping my gaze down or on the wall, not meeting anyone's eyes. We just take turns in the showers, moving as fast as we can. It feels real strange when I schampoo my head and there's no hair left, but then I think that maybe we ain't allowed to grease it in here, so maybe it's good to have it short, then.

Besides, who cares, right?

After we're done in the showers we get some hard towels to dry ourselves with, and clean uniforms, and then we're taken to the toilets and sinks to piss and brush our teeth and shave if we have to. I don't, yet. But I stare at myself in the mirror, hating how young I look with my hair all gone. The eye that's not bruised looks big and hollow, and I really, really wish I had a cigarette. I don't even remember when I smoked the last time, and I start to think that maybe the feeling I had last night was 'cause of withdrawal, not 'cause this place freaks me out. And that makes me feel a little better, that I nearly bawled 'cause my body wants the nicotine and not for some other stupid reason.

Breakfast is okay. I remember what John said about the food, but even if the porridge is almost cold and the milk is lukewarm, it ain't worse than at home since Ma stopped making breakfast for us. Most days I don't really eat anything until lunch anyway.

I sit by a table with some guys from my own room or cell or what to call it. The no talking rule can't be used in here, 'cause everyone talks or shouts or throws sandwiches to each other over the tables.

Everyone leaves me pretty much alone first, but when the shrill signal sounds again and we raise and grab our trays, a guy moves up beside me on the way to the counter.

"Hey, new guy, what's your name?"

I glance at him. I don't think I've seen him before, but I can't be sure.

"Curly," I say, and he lifts one eyebrow.

"What kind of name is that?"

I drop my tray in the pile on the counter, and he do the same. "It's my name," I say shortly, turning my back at him.

But he ain't done asking, apparently, and not done following me. "What you in for?"

I think it through while we leave the cafeteria, discovering that we have to wait in a line again. I don't know what they usually do in places like this, if I should brag and make it sound worse as I would have out in the streets, or if I should tell the truth. But then I think the truth maybe is good enough, 'cause I bet most of the people here hate school and the fuzz, too.

"Vandalized my principal's car and kicked a cop in the balls and stuff like that."

"What stuff?"

I shrug. "Just stuff."

"No talking in the line!"

I roll my eyes at the guard, crossing my arms. But the guy behind me leans forward and talks lowly into my ear.

"Hey, after school, seek me up in the exercise room, okay? I got somethin' for ya."

I turn my head and look at him, but he has stepped away again, pretending to not have said anything at all.

* * *

_I'm so sorry for the long wait! I have been working on this chapter for ages, and I'm not even sure I'm pleased with it, but it will have to go now. I guess it's just one of those chapters that refuses to be as I want them to be.  
_

_And apparently, doc manager doesn't have spell check anymore!? So I hope there is not too much grammar/spell mistakes..._

_Thank you for reading! And a little late Happy New Year :)_


	7. Scott

**Good Until it Hurts**

**7\. Scott  
**

After breakfast we're taken back to the cells, but I only have the time to set a foot in mine when someone grasps my shoulder from behind. I turn around quickly if it's someone trying to start something, but it's just another guard.

"Vincent Shepard?" he asks.

"Yeah?" I say a bit tentative.

"Come with me." He glances into the room. "James Thomas, you too!"

I turn to look, and grimace a little when I see that the guy coming toward us is the guy I beat up. Shit. I guess it didn't matter I managed to slip into bed just in time yesterday, when I heard the keys in the door.

I chew on my lip as we follow the guard down the corridor and through a few locked doors, wondering how much trouble I will be in. But people wouldn't rat in here, right? It should be the same rules as out on the streets, no one rats on anyone, not if they want to be able to go outside again for the rest of their lives. I glance at the guy, but he stubbornly stares straight forward, so I have no idea what he's planning to do. Maybe he already has told on me.

The guard stops in front of a door, pointing at a chair standing just outside of it.

"Shepard, sit," he says, like I'm some kind of dog. I glare a little but don't say anything, just do as he says. Then he takes the other guy into the room and closes the door behind them.

I have to wait for a long time. There ain't any clock or anything on the walls, so I have nothing to count the time with or anything to look at more than grey concrete and other closed doors. My legs start to bounce after a while, and I squirm in the seat, biting at my nails and the skin around them until it starts to bleed. For every second I get a little more restless, almost like I'm nervous. But it ain't like I never have been in trouble before. I guess it's the waiting that does it, 'cause I really hate to just sit still and doing nothing.

I'm almost relieved when the door finally opens, and I jump up before anyone can ask me to. The guard looks sourly at me, but motions at me to come inside while ushering the other guy out and telling him to wait instead.

It almost feels like I'm back in Shaffer's office. It almost looks like it, with the desk and folders and everything, only the man behind the desk don't look at me like Shaffer used to do. He's a big guy, but wearing a suit, so I figure he's the boss here or something.

"Sit down," he orders grimly.

I plop down on the chair standing in front of the desk, crossing my arms.

"I will go straight to the point," the man says. "I want you to tell me what happened last night."

"Nothin'," I mutter.

"_Sir_."

"Nothin', sir," I repeat, barely stopping myself from rolling my eyes.

"Nothing? You get bruises out of nowhere?"

Maybe I should have thought of something to say while I waited. I fidget a little, wishing I was able to think faster. "Well yeah...or, um. No, but I fell out of bed. I'm not used to be sleepin' in a bunk so I guess I fell out. So that's why I have a black eye. Sir."

"You fell out of bed?" The man behind the desk sits quiet for a while, then opens up a folder on his desk, picking up a pen. "You do know fights are not allowed in here. You have only been here for a day and I know we went over the rules with you yesterday."

"But I wasn't-" I start to say, but his gaze makes me stop.

"Let me see your hands."

Shit. I slowly unfold my arms and stick them out, aware that he only has to throw a glance at my knuckles to know that I'm lying. He snorts, and I drop my hands back as he starts to write something down. My heart starts to pound a little faster, and I can't help that my gaze flickers around the room. But finally he lifts his head and looks at me again.

"Since it's your first day here I won't send you to isolation, _this time_." He knocks with a finger into the desk. "Is that clear, Mr. Shepard?"

"Um, yeah," I say fast. "Okay. Sir."

"But this will not go unnoticed. The punishment for fighting will be two hours of extra work each day for a week. But one more incident, and I don't care _what _incident, I will send you to isolation."

"Okay," I say again, a little weaker this time.

xXx

I don't think I got away that easily, but James Thomas still glares at me as the guard takes us back the way we came. But I figure he won't dare to do anything about it, 'cause he makes sure to not walk too close to me. I wonder what he said happened to him when he was in the room, but it ain't like I can ask him.

Turns out school already have started when we get back, so the guard takes us to the class room instead of the cell. First I think maybe isolation would be better than having to go to school, but when he opens the door, it don't look so bad. It seems to me that most of the guys don't really work or anything - they have books and papers and stuff on their desks, but only a few are actually reading or writing.

A middle aged guy walks up to us, smiling way too big.

"James, go sit down on your place and start with your work," he says, and then turns to me and sticks out his hand so I have to shake it. "Hello. I'm Mr. Richard. I'm the teacher here."

"Mhm," I mutter. Shit, this guy seems worse than my kindergarten teacher.

"Are you going to be here for a long time?"

I shrug, grimacing. "'bout three months."

Mr. Richard sighs a bit sadly, shaking his head. "Some kids in here don't go to school, or don't plan to return to school once they get out. But I like to help those who will, to not get too far behind."

I should tell him it's a bit too late to help me with that, 'cause I'm already over a _year _behind, but I don't. I just shrug again, making sure to look bored and hoping he'll get it.

"What was you working with in school before you came here?"

"I don't know."

"Hm." He looks me up and down. "What grade are you in?"

"Eight," I mutter.

"So what do you want to work on? I have math books, history books, well, everything that-"

"Do I have to?" I interrupt him, and he looks a bit disappointed for a while. But then he brightens up again.

"Why don't we start a bit easy since it's your first day here. Maybe you want to go to the library and pick a book to read? You are allowed to bring it to your cell, too. Most kids wants something to do when the doors are locked." He turns his head. "Scott!" he calls, and a guy sitting in the front row reading looks up.

"Can you show..." The teacher frowns at me. It takes a few seconds until I get it.

"Curly," I offer.

"Can you show Curly to the library? Help him to pick something?"

The guy looks a bit like he don't want to do it, but then he closes his book and puts it in the waistband of his pants, covering it with his shirt. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't want a book," I say, but the teacher just smiles again and Scott brushes past me roughly, so I have to take a step back.

"You comin'?" he asks without turning around, and I think whatever, as long as I don't have to do school work maybe it ain't a so bad idea. I can just pretend that I read it, if they force me to get a book.

"I didn't know there was a library in juvie," I say as Scott leads me down a hallway. The guy snorts.

"It ain't a library, just a room where they keep books."

"I thought that was the same."

"Yeah but..." he trails off, throwing me a glance. "You'll see," he adds, stopping at a door and pushing it open.

I follow him inside, and truth is, it looks like a library to me, with shelves along the walls and the floor and a few chairs to sit in in the middle. But what do I know. Scott immediately starts to pick at the books, but I walk over to sit down in one of the chairs, stretching my legs out. This place is fucking boring, with all this just sitting around and waiting.

I really wish I had a cigarette. I bet I could find one somewhere, I just need to figure out how. I drum with my fingers against my leg, already starting to get restless again and we haven't even been in here for a minute.

"You don't read?" Scott asks, sticking his head out from behind one of the shelves.

"Only dorks read," I tell him.

He looks at me like he's amused. "You think I'm a dork?"

"How should I know, I don't know you." I push myself forward in the chair, until I'm half lying in it, resting the back of my neck against its back.

"I would say it's the opposite. It's dorks who don't realize what they're missin'," Scott says.

Something hard suddenly lands on my stomach, and I jolt up to sit, causing the thing to fall to the floor with a thud. I gaze down at it, then frown at the guy.

"You throwin' books at me?"

He smirks a little. "It ain't my fault if you can't catch." Then he walks over, bends down to pick it up, holding it out for me. I don't take it.

"You should read it if you haven't already. It's one of the few great ones they have around here. That's why this ain't a library, they only have what they think is good for us to read. Guess they just forgot this one, 'cause it's not really non-violent."

I don't know why, but I squint my eyes and silently spell out the title, then frown harder and push his hand away. "Why would I want to read about fuckin' flies?"

He snorts with laughter. "What, you haven't heard of this one before? It ain't about flies, it's about some guys livin' alone on an island after a plane crash."

"So, I don't care," I mutter, and I don't know why I feel a bit embarrassed. My cheeks get warm and I look away. "I said only dorks read anyway."

The guy throws himself down in the other chair, then stretches his back and grimacing. He lifts his shirt and pulls out the book he put in his pants, before sitting down again, starting to ignoring me completely. It seems to me like he turns the pages pretty quickly, though, so maybe he's just pretending to read. I don't know what his deal is, but I don't want to go back to the class room either, not with that teacher. Instead I get up on my feet, moving toward one of the shelves. I glance at Scott.

"Hey?" I say, and he looks up.

"You know where I can get a cigarette here?"

He watches me silently for a while before he answers. "Maybe, but you're stupid if you take'em from Law."

"Huh?"

Scott sighs and closes his book. "Law, as in Lawrence. I saw you talkin' to him, after breakfast. It's what he do."

"Do what, talk to people?"

"No. Shit, listen. He said he has somethin' for you, didn't he? He always do that to the new guys. I don't know why so many falls for it, 'cause nothin's free on the outside so why would it be in here, right?"

He looks at me expectantly, and I try to wrap my thoughts around what he's saying. "You mean he has cigarettes?" I ask then, a bit uncertain.

"He has whatever you want."

I start to pace the room, letting my fingers trace the spines of the books I walk past.

"Listen, Curly or whatever you name was, you don't want to owe that guy anything, okay?"

I stop, drag out a book and look at the front. I saw a movie once, were someone had cut a hole in a book, hiding a gun in there. That was pretty cool. But I bet they don't do that in here, so I put the book back again.

"So, what, you don't smoke or...?" I say, turning around and crossing my arms.

"Not in here. I ain't that stupid."

"I'm not stupid," I say fast, frowning hard at him again. I take a step back to lean against the shelf, hoping I won't knock it to the ground by my weight, but it seems stable. "So what did you do?"

"To be in here?" He gives me a little shrug. "Why you want to know?"

"I don't, I'm just bored. Is school like this every day?"

"It ain't like they care about givin' us an education, if that's what you mean. Mr. Richard is all right, but most guys don't care about what he says."

"He seems like an idiot to me," I point out.

"He's just optimistic, thinkin' he can change the world if he can teach some guy the name of the first president." Scott shakes his head. "Like that will keep them out of jail."

"So where can I get a cigarette?"

Scott looks at me and laughs again, but not mean this time, either. "You change the subject pretty fast, huh?" He leans back and smiles. "Gimme a day or two, I'll ask around."

I can't help but grin a little, too, 'cause suddenly I get the feeling we maybe will become friends.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait... again. This chapter was slightly longer than the others, so I hope that will make up for it :) Thank you for reading! _


	8. In Trouble Again

**Good Until it Hurts**

**8\. In Trouble Again  
**

Juice splashes over the rim of the glass when someone dumps their breakfast tray next to mine on the table, before dragging out the chair to my left and sitting down, bumping my arm hard with their elbow as doing so. I press my arm closer to my body, not knowing if it was accidentally or not, but I guess not when I see who it is.

"You didn't show up yesterday." Law says it casual while reaching for his sandwich, but I can tell by the way he stares at me that he's pissed.

"Hey, new guy!" he adds when I don't answer. "I'm talkin' to you."

"Yeah, so?" I mutter.

He picks the cheese from the sandwich and places it on his tray with a grimace. "I told you to meet me yesterday and you didn't show."

"I didn't say I was goin' to, did I?" I turn away from him and back to my own breakfast. I'm not in the mood for this, it's way too fucking early in the morning and I didn't sleep fine, either. I miss my bed at home and need a cigarette so bad I already think I did a mistake listening to Scott. If I had met up with Law yesterday, maybe I would have felt better now. Only it's too late to say that.

"You think I was _askin_'?"

I shrug, digging my spoon into my soggy cereal. "You can't tell me what to do."

This time he's the one who don't answer, so I glance at him. His eyes are narrowed, and the hand he has placed on the table is knotted into a fist.

"Maybe, but there are smart moves and stupid moves," he says finally. "And you don't want to do stupid moves in here."

"Yeah, that's why I didn't went to see you," I retort, and his face darkens even more.

"You think you're funny or what?" He leans in closer, talking lowly but I can still hear him over the clatter and loud voices in the dining hall. "You better watch who you're messin' with."

He pushes out the chair and stands up. Some guard by the door shouts at him to sit down, but he ignores it, grabbing his tray again. "Just watch it, _new guy_."

I just raise my eyebrows at him, but as soon as he has sat himself down by another table I feel like kicking myself. I'm so stupid sometimes, not thinking at all. If it was just him it wouldn't be that much of a problem, I could take him, but he probably has a lot of friends in here. Or if it is like Scott said, a lot of guys who owe him.

I groan quietly, knowing all too well that I'm in trouble again.

xXx

In the class room I seek up Scott, who's sitting in the front row reading. I plop down on the chair next to him, looking around for the teacher, but he stands talking with some guys in the back. Good, then he will leave me alone for a while.

"You got that cigarette 'cause I really need one," I whine to Scott, placing one arm over the tabletop and then rest my forehead against it. "_Shit_."

"If you quit you don't have to worry about finding one anymore." Scott don't even look up from the page, but he gives me a half looped smile when I glance up at him.

"I don't wanna quit, I want a fuckin' cigarette," I snap.

"Regular?"

"I don't care, even if it's a girl's brand I'll smoke it." I sit up and start to tap my fingers against the desk, feeling jittery in my whole body. I guess it's 'cause I know a fight is coming up, and probably not a fair one, either. Not that I'm scared or anything, but I know it should be good to find out a few things before it happens.

"So, this guy Law?" I ask, trying to sound like I don't care about the answer. "He's got a lot of friends in here or what?"

"Mhm?"

"So if he's pissed at a guy, they would gang up on him?"

"Guess so. I told you he ain't a good guy."

"That means I need a gang of my own, then?" I turn my head to look over my shoulder, but I ain't Tim, I have no fucking clue how to get guys to gather around me and do what I say.

I turn forward again, but Scott is pretty boring, only reading that book when I try to talk. So I snatch it out of his hands.

"Hey, give that back," he protests, but he don't do anything to try to take it from me, so I don't care.

"I need a switch blade," I just say to him.

"I thought you needed a cigarette. Or a gang."

"You have any of that?" I ask hopefully.

"I had a book," he answers, nodding at the one I'm holding.

He's fucking weird sometimes. I roll my eyes and toss the book up in the air, then catch it again. "This?"

"Be careful with that."

"What, the book?" I'm about to toss it again, but this time Scott quickly leans forward and snatches it from me.

"Go bug someone else, will you? I want to finish this before work."

"You're fuckin' boring," I tell him, but he has already leaned back in his chair again, with the book opened. So I sigh and cross my arms over the desk, thinking I maybe can try to get a nap in here, before they will force me to work again, too.

Or before Law and his gang will come and beat me up.

xXx

It don't take more than a week to figure out a few things. First is that work in juvie _sucks_, 'cause I have to do the same thing every day, even on the weekends. Second is that some guards are total dicks, doing everything they can to treat us badly when no one else is around. Looking out for Law turned out not to be so hard since we don't share the same cell, but I can't get away from big-nosed Adams and fat Simmons. I don't know if they are the worst guards, but that don't matter when they are the ones watching me work almost all the time.

We're in the bathroom again, me and another guy, cleaning the toilets, when Adams suddenly hauls Jeffrey up by his collar and pins him up against the bathroom wall.

"You filthy piece of shit," he growls into his face. "You splash water on my shoes again and I'll make you _lick_ 'em clean!"

Simmons stands just behind him, holding his baton and grinning like a maniac. I know he ain't this tough without another guard to back up, but right now that don't mean anything. If he can get away with it he will use it, I've seen it before.

"Maybe I should let you both lick the whole fucking toilet clean." Adams turns his head and looks at me. "What you say, Shepard? Ain't that what you eat at home? Piss and shit? You miss the taste of it?"

I briefly meet Jeff's eyes. He looks scared, but the kid is so small I know he wouldn't stand a chance against anyone in here. But that don't mean I will stand here and take it, I have fucking hated Adams since my first day in here, and he never do anything to make me change my mind about it.

"Why don't you taste it?" Adams keeps mocking me. "C'mon, Shepard, you'll probably like it."

"Yeah, I bet _you _know what it tastes like."

"Hey!" Simmons grabs me and jerks me sideways, and I see how he raises the baton. I duck and put my arm up to cover my head, but he don't go there, instead he lets the blow hit my thigh. _Fucking shit_! It couldn't be his hardest but it hurt anyway, and I can't help but shout out, lifting my foot to try to kick him away from me.

"Let me go!" Jeff whines, struggling to get free from Adams' grip, but at the same time the door to the bathroom opens and someone steps inside.

Both guards drop us quickly, backing away from us. I rub my thigh with a grimace, looking darkly at Simmons.

"What's goin' on in here?" a voice booms out. It's one of the nicer guards, and I guess we're lucky he is, 'cause he's one of the biggest ones, too. He takes in the scene with narrowed eyes, Adams' cocky smile and Simmons who looks like he tries to hide behind him.

"What you think is goin' on?" Adams says, nodding at us. "You think they work without someone tryin' to discipline them?"

"I thought you were supposed to be someplace else," Bennett says harshly, and Adams suddenly looks a bit insecure. But then he straightens his back again.

"You ain't my boss! I'm here 'cause I was needed in here!"

Bennett looks around, watching the toilets and the sinks. "Looks to me like it's clean enough," he says. "Maybe you should give the guys some free time now?"

"Shepard has two more hours to do," Simmons mutters.

"Fuck you!" I spit out, and Bennett points a finger at me.

"You shut up, Shepard." Then he turns to the other guards. "I'll find him something to do. You should take a break, or I will report that you're two men doing one man's job."

Adams glare at him, but both him and Simmons turn to leave. The door slams shut behind them, and when they are gone, Bennett puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little.

"You guys okay?"

"Yeah, fine." I glance at Jeff, who stands biting his lip and nodding. I think he's about to cry, but I don't say anything about it.

"You know they ain't allowed to use violence against you, if not necessary?" Bennett asks. "If they did you can tell me."

"They didn't," I say. "We're fine."

Bennett looks like he wants to say something else, but then he just gestures at the door. "Go take some time off before lock-up," he offers. "I'll make sure you won't be in trouble for it."

He don't have to tell me twice, and I'm out the door within a second.

* * *

_So sorry for late update - again! My life has been pretty busy the last month, and I didn't even had the time to think of this story. But now things have slowed down and hopefully I will be able to update faster next time. _

_I hope you liked this chapter and please review :)_


	9. Free Time

**Good Until it Hurts**

**9\. Free Time  
**

It ain't fun when no one talks to you. I don't know why I didn't notice it sooner, but every time I go into the cell and some guys are in there talking, they all get silent and start to glare at me instead, like I ain't supposed to be there. Or in the rooms where we spend or free time - the exercise room and the room with the TV and the pool table - no one is even looking at me when I step inside, making me feel like I'm invisible or something. I have really tried to make some friends, talking to people and stuff, but everyone just answers with a word or two if they have to, and then starts to ignore me again.

And I'm frustrated 'cause it makes me miss my friends at home and what we used to do. I can't smoke or drink or go to a drag race or a party, and even if Scott promised to see if he could find me some cigarettes, he hasn't been able to. He don't count as a friend either, 'cause he always sits with a book so it's not like I want to hang out with him anyway. It's okay in school but that's 'cause the teacher seems to think I do school stuff, too, when I spend my time with him, so then he don't nag at me about doing other things.

I've been in juvie for two weeks, and my mood has been sinking more and more for every day. Some of the guys work with laundry or in the kitchen, but the guards always have me doing cleaning jobs, especially the toilets, and I'm sick of it. I'm thinking about taking my bucket with water and throw it out over someone, then at least something would happen that would make me feel better, when one of the guys suddenly pokes my arm with his elbow.

I turn my head quickly, ready to fight if that's what he wants, but he frowns hard and shakes his head to keep me quiet, then leans in closer to talk so the guards won't hear what he's saying.

"Just so you know," he says lowly. "Some people thinks it's cool you stood up to Law."

I don't answer, just start to work again, 'cause I don't know what he's after yet. I ain't stupid, I know why the other guys don't talk to me, know that something is probably coming up, that they won't just ignore me forever.

"Think you can sneak away from the guards at the free time?"

"Yeah, why?" I scrub a little harder on the toilet before flushing it, then turn to look him straight in the eyes.

Mike moves his rag cloth between his hands. "Just we're kinda tired he thinks he's the boss in here. No one says a thing about it, but I know."

"What you gonna do about it?" I move to the other toilet, and Mike follows me. I put my bucket down, pressing myself against the stall wall so the guards won't see us from the doorway.

"He's pretty good at fighting, but a lot of guys hate him. We just have to take'im down together, when he's by himself."

He gets quiet when we hear footsteps, and then one of the guards walk past us, stopping when he sees us just standing there. "Get back to work!" he snarls.

Mike starts scrubbing the wall and I pick up the sponge from the bucket again. The guard stands watching a little while, before moving away again.

"If you come, meet us in the shower room in hallway B, okay?" Mike says as soon as he's gone, and then we don't talk to each other anymore.

xXx

Everyone else starts their free time before me, 'cause I still have a few days more to go on my punishment. This time I don't care so much, yeah I care about that I have to work 'cause it's the most boring thing in here, but it gives me time to think and decide what to do. It would probably feel great to put my fist in Law's face, and I almost feel how it tickles in my hands and chest just thinking about having a fight. So I guess it ain't that much of a decision.

When I'm done mopping the floor the guard takes me to the TV- room, and I walk in, ignored by almost everyone as always, but this time at least Mike nods at me. But I notice how he steal glances at Law's direction, so he won't see it.

It's always only one guard watching us in here, but he keeps his hand on the walkie talkie, to call others if something goes wrong. It often do, 'cause there is always someone wanting to beat up someone else for cheating in card games, or some guy getting bored of the movie they show on the TV, shouting out that they should show action or porn instead. Which they never do.

I don't know if it's easy or not to sneak away, but I notice how Mike and a few other guys, James is one of them, walk up to the guard and say something. He nods, and they leave the room without looking back. I ain't so sure what I think of James being with them, since I beat him up and all, but maybe he hates Law more than he hates me. If he still hates me, I don't know. It was his fault anyway. But I guess it's the same as when the River Kings help us or the other way around, that we can stand on the same side if it's necessary.

I wait a few minutes, and then I walk toward the door, but before I can step outside of it, the guard shoots out his hand and grabs my shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to piss."

He sticks out his head and looks down the empty corridor. "Five minutes, okay?" he says and lets me go.

When I come to the shower room, the others are already there, standing smoking. James glares hard at me, but I don't care, I just take the stick Mike offers and try not to show how great it feels to finally _finally_ have a smoke again.

One of the others looks a bit nervous, keep glancing at the door and back to Mike, and I wonder what the plan is, if they think Law will just come strolling by or what, or maybe if this is the place they usually smoke so they know he will come. And then I think, what if he brings his friends then, we're five, but we have no idea how many they will be, and the kid looking nervous don't even looks like he's good at fighting at all.

The door opens behind my back, and I turn around, and the others step up next to me. Law smirks as he sees us, but he's only flanked by two other guys so we outnumber them good enough. Then to my surprise Mike suddenly moves beside me and grabs my left arm, and before I have the time to react to that, James has grabbed the other one, both holding me so hard it hurts.

"What the fuck?" I let out, struggling to get free, but it only causes them to strengthen their grip. For a second I wonder what kind of joke this is, but then it suddenly hits me - it ain't a joke at all.

I stop struggling when Law comes closer, staring me in the eyes. I stare back, trying to even my breaths, thinking of mostly two things. One is that I'm glad Tim ain't here, 'cause he would smack me so hard for being this stupid, to be tricked like this, and the other is that I'm in deep, deep shit.

I wait for Law to say something, but he don't - he just drags his fist back and _bam_, hits me so hard in the face my head gets knocked backwards. It tugs in my arms as I'm being hold in place, and I curse, trying to blink away the dizziness as I manage to straighten up. But he hits me again immediately, and I get blood taste in my mouth this time. It feels like I have run faced first into a wall, all numb at first, but then the pain comes crawling all over my face, and when Law's fist hits me a third time, I can't help but let out a groan.

I try to get free again, but it's no use. I'm really dizzy, but I can see the other guys grinning at me. Law don't. He looks almost bored as he takes a step back, only to kick me in my stomach.

I want to double over so badly, but I can't, and I cough 'cause of losing my air, and I see how blood splatters from my mouth and over the floor. Law still don't say anything, just plants his fist into my stomach this time, one time, two times, then in my face again.

I have been beat up before. A lot of times. But this time I get real scared, 'cause no one knows we're here, no one is here to help me, and if he hits again, I think I'm gonna pass out. I have to struggle to breathe, and my face is throbbing so much I almost feel like crying. But I can't, I can't cry, I'm too tough for that.

Law backs away, just standing there, looking at me. Suddenly I'm almost glad that Mike and James are holding me up, 'cause otherwise I would fall to the floor, I can feel it. I spit out blood again, gulping to get air even if my ribs protest against it.

"Undress him."

For a second, Mike lets go of my arm, only to start to tug at my sleeve, and I feel James and some other guy do it on my other side, too, forcing the shirt up over my head. They grab me again, and someone pulls my pants down, taking off my shoes. I get aware of that I'm naked now, and I start to struggle even more, even if it hurts. I get another punch to the face, and then they drag me into the showers, and I hear the water running before they push me under. I hit the wall and slip on the wet tiles, falling to the floor.

The water that comes down is ice cold, but I only move to crawl into a ball, trying to hide from them. I hear them laughing at me, and I feel like shit, like I wish I could just die instead of them seeing me like this.

I don't know when they leave, but when the water stop running, they ain't there anymore. I put my hands down to try to push me up to sit, shaking badly. I'm so fucking cold, and it hurts all over, my face, my stomach, my knees. I spit out more blood, licking with my tongue over my swollen mouth, wincing at the pain.

I move slowly, dragging myself over to the closest corner, wrapping my arms around my legs and hide my face. I can't stop shaking, I don't know what to do. My teeth clatters, but I don't have my clothes so I can't leave here, either.

I can't do anything.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! I'm trying to keep this story T-rated, but sometimes it might get close to an M, just so you know.  
_


	10. Solitary

**Good Until it Hurts**

**10\. Solitary**

I don't feel so great. It's almost like my first day here, with the guards, when they made me undress and all that for the body search. Only this is worse - that time it was at least supposed to happen and they do the same to everyone, so no one can blame me for it. But now, all I can think of is how they were mocking me, and how I couldn't do nothing to fight back.

I shiver so hard my teeth chatter so loudly that I don't hear when someone's coming. Suddenly I just see him standing in the doorway to the showers, and I stiffen even more, catching my breath until I realize that it's only Scott. But I don't know what he's doing here, maybe he just came to watch the fucking freak show.

"What do you want?" I mutter, turning away from his as best as I can. But the wall is in the way so I don't get very far.

"I heard what they did." He looks at me with pity, making it worse.

"Yeah?" I drag an arm over my eyes, wincing 'cause of the bruises. My voice is too thick and I really hope he don't think I'm sitting here bawling. 'Cause I'm not.

"Bet they brag about it," I manage to say, luckily sounding a lot better this time.

He don't answer to that, just says, "You can't stay here."

No shit, like I didn't know. But I don't move, so he takes a few steps into the shower area and sinks down on his heels in front of me.

"Shit, you look cold." He nudges my arm, then stands up. "C'mon. Get under the shower."

"Hell no!"

He don't listen, just turns the water on again, jumping back so he won't get wet. I brace myself, thinking maybe he came to finish the job or something, when I realize that the little water that manages to reach me is warm. And then I feel even more stupid, 'cause why didn't I think of that, instead of sitting here freezing to death?

Scott is in front of me again and this time he grabs my arm and helps me get up on my feet, ignoring my groans. I try not to remember that I don't have any clothes on, I mean, we shower together every day, all of the guys here, so it shouldn't be no fucking deal. But I still take a step back when I stand up, snatching my arm from his grip.

"How did you know I was here?" I throw out, squinting suspiciously at him, my eyes already starting to swell up.

"I heard them talk about it. There ain't that many shower rooms around here."

I curse at that, 'cause if Scott knows about what happened, how many others do?

"They really did a number on you," Scott says, looking sadly at my face. But then he suddenly puts his fingertips against my ribs, real gentle, and I jerk away of surprise.

"Sorry," he says quickly, withdrawing his hand. He leaves me alone after that, moving out of my sight, and I think he maybe left.

I warm up, standing under the running water, staring at my blood disappearing down into the drain. But I still have the problem of being naked, so it ain't like I can just leave like he did. I don't know what to do about that, and maybe I just have to wait here until someone else finds me or maybe try to sneak away and, shit, I really don't know. But then suddenly Scott is back, and he has brought Bennett with him.

It makes me hate him a little, 'cause who fucking runs to the guards and rat? I glare at him, but he refuses to meet my eyes this time. I guess I can be thankful it's Bennett he found though, and not someone else like Adams, even if Scott knows what I think about him so he probably wouldn't get him even if he was the only option.

Bennett looks at the blood on the floor, and then me. "What happened in here?" he demands to know.

"Nothin'," I mutter.

His eyes turn harder and he shakes his head. "Try that with someone else, kid. Come on, get out of there now."

When I have stepped out of the water he hands me a towel and some new clothes. It's real awkward, that they both stand looking at me while I dress, especially since I have a hard time with the shirt; it hurts just to lift my arms.

Bennett tells Scott to go to supper and me to come with him. I'm lucky everyone is in the dining hall, so I don't have to meet anyone who attacked me, or knows what happened. And I'm lucky when the doctor checks me up, too, 'cause I don't have any broken bones, only bruises and a little loose tooth he says will get stuck again with time. But he warns me of getting into another fight the next couple of days, 'cause then it can happen it falls out.

But I'm not lucky when I'm taken back to the office, where I was the last time I was fighting, and the boss asks me all these questions. I keep saying 'I don't know', 'No one did it', 'I didn't see who it was', and I know I messed up. I know what they say, if you're gonna lie, think out a good one and then stick to it. It's just that I don't know what I should say this time, and I keep changing my mind about it.

He's pissed at me, I can tell, but I think it's a bit unfair I get sent to isolation. He says it is since he warned me to not cause any more trouble last time he saw me, and that I've been caught fighting and lying about it twice in two weeks now and maybe it will make me reconsider my behavior. But he can go to hell, I won't rat for anything.

I don't say that, though.

Bennett brings me to the isolation cells and opens one of the doors with a key, ushering me inside. It's just a small room with a bunk and a blanket, and a small window close to the ceiling. He says if I have to go to the toilet, I have to knock on the door and someone will hear me.

"Make sure to not wait until the last minute," he says, and I think maybe they usually wait to come and get you, just to be mean about it.

When he has locked the door, I slowly sit on the bed and then ease down to lie onto my back. The doctor gave me some pain killers, but I can't tell if they helped or not, 'cause I'm still hurting all over. I feel it more now, that I can't take deep breaths, and my face is throbbing, especially my mouth and nose. I play a little with the loose tooth with my tongue, even if the doctor told me not to, but it's just a molar tooth anyway so maybe I don't care if I lose it.

Or maybe I do, as I think about our toothless neighbor at home, so I stop wiggling it. But I have to do something to keep all the thoughts away, and I end up checking my ribs, trying to figure out which of them that hurt and which that don't. I remember how Scott put his fingers on me and I wonder why, but maybe he was just checking if they were broken. Tim did it once, too, after a fight, but he was a lot more rough about it.

After a long time, I can't say how long, another guard brings me a tray with food. I eat a little of it, sitting on the bed, but my mouth hurts to move and I have trouble chewing, too. It's also uncomfortable to sit, so after a little while I put the tray on the floor and lie down again.

It only takes a day until I'm sure I will go crazy in here. I pace the floor, despite that it hurts to move, 'cause I can't just sit still and doing nothing. I would rather clean hundreds of toilets, or read a fucking _book _if I didn't have to be here with nothing to do.

It makes me think a lot, too, about being in juvie and what happened and home and stuff. I haven't called home and no one has been here to visit me, either. I guess they won't, since it's only three months. But maybe it would be nice with a phone call, just to see what they are doing.

I think about Law, too, and that I have to get back at him when I get out of here. I'm not sure how - if I had had friends in here, I would probably corner him just like he did me, just what we had planned to do when they tricked me. But I don't have that, not anyone who would want to fight anyway. Scott is nice and all, especially since he came and helped me, and if he hasn't talked about it with someone else - I guess I will figure that out once I leave isolation - but I can't really picture him fighting.

It makes me wonder a bit what he really did to be here, 'cause he didn't answer when I asked him. He don't seem to be like the rest of the guys, and not someone who's usually my friend, either.

I lie down on my bunk, thinking that maybe I can ask him again, once I get out of here.

_If_ I get out of here.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading!  
_

_ I hope there aren't too many grammar mistakes, but if it is, feel free to correct me if you want. It's a big help. And please review and tell me what you think of the story/chapter :)  
_


	11. Something Bad

**Good Until it Hurts**

**11\. Something Bad  
**

Turns out I didn't have to worry about being locked up in solitary forever, 'cause in the morning of the fourth day, I hear the keys clatter in the door as always, but instead of it just being the breakfast tray coming a guard barks at me to get the hell up and follow him.

First I feel great about it, being let out again - but then I'm taken straight to the showers, and honestly, I don't feel so hot when I have to undress and all that in front of the others. It just brings back the memories of how they stripped me, but mostly how it felt, and it's embarrassing as hell that I didn't fight back better. 'Cause I should have. I'm not a fucking cry-baby, I'm a greaser, I'm a gang member. Almost anyway. As soon as I get out of here, I will make sure Tim brings me in for real.

I can see the guys staring and smirking at me as I walk into the shower area, and some, like Mike and James, step in front of me and don't move out of the way when I try to walk past them. Not until the last minute. And it don't matter that we have a staring contest, it still feels like I'm the loser even if they are the ones looking away first, just 'cause of the look in their eyes as they roam over my bruises.

And then on the way to breakfast, Mike walks too close behind me, but when he bumps into me on purpose and I turn around to snap at him, ask what the fuck he's doing and ready to push him away, Bennett is there and grips my upper arm hard.

"No fighting!" he barks, dragging me out of the line and motions angrily at the others to keep going. I glare after Mike, who walks with his head turned, still grinning and looking way too content with himself when meeting my gaze. I flip him the bird, but Bennett grabs my wrist, forcing me around to face him instead.

"Knock it off, Shepard!"

"He started it!" I exclaim, thinking wildly that maybe they will take me back to solitary again 'cause of this, lock me up for _weeks _this time. And I really, _really _don't want that.

"I don't care," Bennett says to me. "You gonna stop acting like this, start fights all the time, or do I have to report you again?"

That ain't fair - I'm not the one who started it, so why am I the one who has to stop? But I don't say that, only cross my arms and mutter something I hope he don't hear.

"I'm serious!"

"But I didn't even do anything!" I protest. "He walked into me!"

Bennett shakes his head. "You better wise up for your own sake, Shepard, and that fast. Come on now, let's go."

"What? Where?" I take a step back, eyes narrowed, ready to... I don't know, 'cause I can't really run or protest or put up a fight or whatever if they want to put me in isolation again, can I? But to my surprise, Bennett smiles a little.

"To breakfast. I thought you were hungry."

xXx

It ain't better in the dining hall. It feels like everyone goes silent and just sits watching me as I take a place in the line again, grabbing a tray. But I hold my head up high, my eyes cold, 'cause I ain't going to give them another reason to think I'm weak.

When I have gotten my food and turn around, I see Law on the other side of the room. I feel like walk right up to him and show him he messed with the wrong guy, only he has a lot of friends sitting next to him and I know I'm alone. I maybe am kind of dumb, but I ain't that stupid. So I go find the table where Scott sits instead, and when I sit down in front of him, some other guys rise and change tables, but I pretend not to notice. Or see that Scott don't look too happy to see me. He just sits quiet, looking down and eating his porridge.

"You been in solitary sometime?" I ask him, digging down my spoon into my bowl. "It was boring as hell, I got nothin' to do in there. I thought I would go crazy."

Silence.

"I was goin' to say it was cool what you did. Even if you brought that guard, okay." I watch him, but still nothing.

I lift my foot and kick him on his leg under the table. At least I get a reaction out of that, even if it's a glare.

"Don't do that!" he snaps.

"You not gonna talk to me anymore?" I ask. "It wasn't my fault, it was you sayin' to stay away from Law. I can take him, you know, but they were more than me. And I ain't scared of them if that's what you think, and if hangin' with me will destroy your rep or whatever, I'm gonna fix-"

"I don't," he interrupts me.

I blink. "Don't what?"

"I don't care about reputations and I don't think badly of you."

"I'm gonna fix that anyway. I'll show'em."

Scott shrugs a little, turning down his gaze again. "If you think that's important."

"Where the hell did you grow up?" I ask him. "Your rep is everythin'. Almost no one would jump me like that at home, 'cause they know stuff about me. They know who I am."

Or maybe know who my brother is, but I don't say that. But I guess it evens out that I sometimes have been jumped _because _he's my brother, too. But Scott don't look so impressed of that I'm well known in my neighborhood.

"Don't really matter in here, does it? You think it will matter in ten years?" he just says.

I look at him a bit bewildered. "Yeah."

"So what you gonna do in ten years from now? You're fifteen, right?"

"I will be, this summer."

"Okay, so when you're twenty-five, what you gonna do?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "I haven't thought of that yet."

"Maybe you should. There are more in life than some stupid rep you have as a kid, you know. You can't bum around and fight all your life."

"Shit, you sound like a teacher," I groan at him. "They always rant about stuff like that."

Scott don't answer to that, and don't smile, either. He just looks at me, and I don't know, but suddenly it almost feels worse than the looks I got in the shower room after the jumping.

xXx

I lie in one of the armchairs in the library, my head resting on one of the arms and my legs dangling over the other, trying to not think about what will happen later. It hasn't been that hard to avoid the guys that jumped me, with the guards everywhere, but I know that tonight at lock up, I will have three of them in my cell and no where to go. And I don't look forward to that.

Scott ain't reading this time. Instead he has some kind of note book in his lap, writing in it. Now and then he crosses over everything, only to start over again on the next page. I have no idea of what he's doing but it don't seem so important.

"So what crime did you do to get locked up in here?" I suddenly throw out, bored of just staring at the ceiling.

He looks at me briefly. "You have asked that before."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me," I try, pushing my elbows down and sitting up a little, ignoring my protesting ribs. They still hurt, but not as much as before.

"Guess not," he says evasively.

I wait a minute or two, but he don't say anything else, just continues to write in that book.

"Well how long, then?" I probe.

"What?"

"How long you been here? You can tell me that, at least."

"I've told you before you ask an awful lot of questions."

"That's 'cause I want to know."

He taps with his pen against the notebook, frowning down at the page, but then he seems to decide something 'cause he suddenly goes still. "I got a year. Seven months left."

I sit up straighter. "Shit! I only got three! What the hell did you do?" He looks uncomfortable but I don't care. "Must've been somethin' bad, right? Real bad, like I don't know, robbery?"

"No."

"Then what? Maybe you killed someone?"

He hastily looks over at me. "_Killed _someone? You really think I did that?"

I shrug. "I don't know, maybe. Since you won't say it."

He bites his lip and turns his gaze down again.

"It would almost be cool if you had," I continue. "Like... unexpected."

"It wouldn't be cool," he mumbles.

"Yeah, a little. No one would expect that, not from you. It would be like you were a secret agent or somethin'. But bad."

"You don't make sense."

"So did you?"

He shakes his head and then goes back to his writing. I sit up a little more, craning my neck, but he sees that I'm trying to look, and drags up his legs, hiding the book behind them.

* * *

_So so sorry - again - for the long wait! This chapter didn't want to come to me, but I hope it turned out okay in the end. Thank you for still reading!  
_


	12. Nobody Cares

**Good Until it Hurts**

**12\. Nobody Cares  
**

The next couple of days I have it kinda rough in the cell. As soon as the door locks and the guards ain't around anymore, Mike starts in on me, talking about what happened in the shower room and what a fucking wuss I am. James don't keep his mouth shut, either, but even if most of the other guys do, they still grin at what Mike tells them, looking at me like they believe every word he says.

I don't just stand there taking it, but it don't matter - Mike only smirks at me when I throw my comebacks at him, just like everyone else in there. When it gets worse I clench my fists and try to figure how much damage I will manage to do to him if I decide to jump him, only I never do it 'cause of all the others. I ain't a coward or anything when I stop myself from it, I just think that if I have no one at my side, it would be like suicide starting a fight in a cell with a locked door and no escape.

I kind of think that it wouldn't bother Tim, though - he would make sure no one treated him like this from the beginning, but if they did anyway, he wouldn't have a second thought about fighting back. I think. He hasn't been in juvie so how should I know. And it ain't like he gave me a fucking manual how to deal with things before I went in either, and besides, he would probably rather have me home alive than in a body bag, right? So, I don't do anything else than go to bed and try to think that they have to stop sometimes.

Unfortunately it ain't much better outside of the cell, either. I get looks and words thrown at me everywhere, and some pushing in the line for food if they can get away with it. And I see Law watching me now and then, mostly from a distance in the dining hall and in the free time room, but he don't do anything else than just sit there staring, apparently fine with letting the other dipsticks do the job for him.

The fourth day outside of solitary Mike takes the shower next to me as usual, he always do so he can mock me, and then we start our insults, knowing if we just keep it low the guards won't notice. But then he says a real nasty thing about me, real loud so a lot of guys start laughing. And I don't know, but I suddenly feel so sick of the whole thing 'cause I don't think I deserve it.

Mike turns his back at me, starting to tell the ones not sharing our cell how I cry at night, and that ain't even true. But I snap anyway, and before I know it I lurch forward, grab the back of his neck and slam his face hard into the wall.

He bounces back and slips down onto the floor, holding a hand under his nose, and it fills with blood pretty quickly. He stares at it for a moment, like he don't believe his eyes, then looks up at me.

"You fuckin' shit!" he shouts, crawling up on his feet, but by that it only takes a second for the guards to come, one of them grabbing my arms from behind and another dragging Mike out of my reach.

"He slipped on some soap," I say quickly.

"Shut up," Adams says behind me, holding tighter around my arms so I grimace. "You think we're idiots?"

I bite my lip to not say yes, 'cause I figure this situation is pretty bad for me as it is.

Bennett shouts out to turn off the water, then ushers the other guys out of the shower area and tells them to dry and dress. When he comes back to us, he's looking straight at me.

"Shepard-" he starts, but I interrupt him.

"Don't look at me 'cause he slipped." I look behind him and grin at Mike, who still holds his hand under his nose and glares at me. He can't rat, and he knows it, too.

"Yeah," he grumbles nasally, while the blood seeps through his fingers. "I slipped. Fuckin' wet tiles."

Bennett watches me silent for a while, then turns to the guy still holding Mike. "Take him to the doctor. Let's hope it ain't broken."

I feel much greater when I dress again, and I can sense that the other guys look at me a bit differently. Not Mike's friends, though, 'cause one of them hisses "He's gonna fuckin' kill you for that!" when we walk out into the corridor.

Maybe I should be worried, but I don't think of it much. I just take my seat in front of Scott, eat my breakfast and tell him about what happened. Maybe I tell him I did a little more than I actually did, but whatever, he won't find out.

In school, and before we have the time to go to the library, Bennett shows up in the door to the class room, telling the teacher he wants to speak with me. I guess I feel a little worried then, maybe Mike told them what happened after all, maybe no one would think it's bad to rat on _me_. I rise from the bench and try to come up with something to defend myself with while I slowly walk toward the open door.

"I didn't do nothin'," I say as soon as Bennett closes the door behind me and we're standing in the corridor. "If he said I did anything he lied!"

"Didn't I tell you to wise up?" Bennett sighs. "You're only getting yourself in trouble, Shepard."

"I'm only in trouble 'cause they put me in trouble."

He just looks at me and I stare back, trying not to blink. Shit, this is probably bad!

"You didn't even see what happened so you can't blame me for it," I try, 'cause it's true, right? Only they did it the last time, blamed me for everything even if I was the one who was hurt.

"You don't think I see what's going on just because I'm not right beside you all day?" Bennett asks. "I've been working here a long time, Shepard, and I know you guys."

"So?" I grumble.

"So it means I know more than you think. I know you are hot-headed, I know you like to fight and cause trouble." Suddenly he almost looks sad. "And I know you're alone in here, almost no friends, no family visiting-"

"They gonna visit," I say fast, even if I know they probably won't. "They just don't have had the time yet."

He ignores it, turns harder again. "The point is, Shepard, that nobody will believe any word you say in here. Nobody cares about you, or what happens to you." He leans down and bores his gaze into mine. "Nobody. _Cares_. Not even your family."

I quickly turn my gaze away and stare into the wall instead. So what if nobody cares, should that bother me? If my parents never come here, or especially Tim... but it don't mean he don't _care_, it just means he has other stuff to do and no money for the trip. So I don't really know why my throat suddenly feels a little thick.

"So?" I say after a minute, when I trust my voice enough to speak, but I wish it didn't tremble so much. Shit.

"It means you're lucky as long as I look the other way, or you will end up in solitary or worse again in no time." He makes a little pause. "Mike will be removed from your cell."

"Uh, what?" I look back at him, and to my surprise he smiles at me now.

"It was another... incident. He will be moved to another block." He puts a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it. "Don't make me regret it, Vincent."

I hope he don't expect me to thank him, 'cause he's just a fucking guard. But he don't say anything else, just lets go of me and tells me to join the class again.

xXx

On Friday my fourth week in juvie, it's Tim's birthday. I only know it 'cause the teacher always write up on the black board what day it is, and yesterday it was November the 3rd. I didn't think it would bother me as much as it does, being here today, but when they wake us up in the morning, all I can think of is how Tim is going to party and all that, and what people will come to celebrate. 'Cause I'm supposed to be there, too, I'm his fucking _brother_. So my mood is not that great when we shower and eat breakfast.

Mike being moved has really turned things better for me, though. Law still sends me hateful looks, but he's not in my cell and he don't shower in the same shower room, so I only see him in the dining hall and on the free time, and the guards are always there then. So he can't do anything, and James don't dare to even look at me anymore. So the rest of the guys have start to leave me alone, too.

Maybe that's why I let my guard down. Why it feels I don't really need it. 'Cause they don't bully me anymore, 'cause my reputation has gone up, 'cause I just want to call Tim.

I mean, it's his birthday.

And I ask Bennett, 'cause who else?

"I wanna make a phone call," I say to him right after school and before work. "I need to talk to my brother."

He looks at me quietly and I think he's going to say no, so I hurry to add that it's his birthday. Most people care about that shit, don't they.

"You know the rules," Bennett says slowly. "You were in solitary, and the rules say no phone calls for two weeks after a punishment."

"I only need a fuckin' minute!"

Not that I know what I will say, maybe just 'happy birthday' or something. Maybe I just want him to ask how I'm doing. _Nobody cares_. Right. I know he will miss me today 'cause I have always been there on his birthdays, especially since ma and pa never thought of fixing a cake or presents or nothing.

"Just one minute," I say again, 'cause I feel I really, really need it. "It's no big deal, is it?"

He continues to look at me, narrowing his eyes a bit. And I think he has fucking helped me before, so why not now?

And then he nods.

"All right," he says kindly. "Come on, then."

I follow him down the corridor and through a few doors, and after the second one I start to think we're walking in the wrong direction. I haven't used the phones before but I know where to find them 'cause I have been cleaning that room for work. And I know we ain't on the right way.

"Since you're not allowed to call no one else can know about this," Bennett says when I ask about it. "Then you can't use the regular phones."

Only the room he's taking me to has no phones.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, please review :) I appreciate it!  
_

_And as you probably have figured out already, serious topics ahead... I hope you don't mind, I try to write realistic._


	13. How it Always Works

_Warning. Smaller details of bad stuff happening, maybe a little M-rated..._

* * *

**Good Until it Hurts**

**13\. How it Always Works  
**

My hand shakes as I lift up the receiver. I don't want to do this, I tried to say before I have changed my mind about it, I don't want to call anymore. But he just looked at me when I said it, like it didn't matter.

And it didn't.

I punch in the number slowly, hoping no one will pick up. And it repeats in my head as I hear the signals go by - don't pick up. Don't pick up. Don't pick up.

Don't. Pick. Up. But I ain't that lucky.

"_Hello_?"

I ain't sure I can talk. My throat hurts, I have a bad taste in my mouth, and what if she can tell, what if she knows, what if she could feel the smell of vomit and...

"_Someone there? That you, Clyde?_"

"No, 's me," I mumble, for a second wondering who Clyde is, but really, I couldn't care less.

"_Curly?_"

"Yeah." I press my forehead against the cold surface of the phone hanging on the wall, squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through my mouth. _Please say Tim ain't home_.

"_What you doin'? How's juvie?_"

"...'s okay."

"_Okay? What's okay with it? Ain't it supposed to be bad?"_

"Angie-"

I hear her snort into the phone, interrupting me. "_I ain't goin' by Angie anymore. Call me Angel. Don't you think that sounds better? Clyde says I look like-_"

"Okay," I rasp out, and she makes that sound again.

"_You cryin' or somethin'? 'Cause you sound real strange._"

"No, I ain't fuckin' cryin', all right?" I swallow and knot my other hand to a fist, wanting to bang it into the wall. I have to fucking hang up, now. I shouldn't have called, I should have punched in the wrong number. "It's the phone. I just... shit, say hi to Tim, okay? Happy birthday or somethin'... I gotta go."

I hang up and turn around, shaking. Bennett stands against the opposite wall, still looking at me and smiling, his hands at his sides, close to his belt.

_Click. He opens it but I still don't get it._

_I want something from you first._

I press my lips together and try to take a breath through my nose instead, but it still feels all stuffed up. At least he took me to wash up after, so maybe my eyes ain't red anymore.

"You done?" he asks me.

_Come on, Vincent. It's called favors. I do stuff for you, you do stuff for me. Ain't that how it always works?_

I force myself to nod. He starts walking, and I follow him through the corridors, and the closer we get back I feel the panic rising, thinking no one can know about this. So I try hard to walk with ease, stretch my back and put up my chin, pretend nothing happened more than a phone call while I was gone. That everything is like it used to be.

'Cause I'm a greaser. I'm a tough guy in reformatory, and no one can fucking touch me.

xXx

"What's up with you?" Scott asks, lowering his stupid book to look at me. I pace the floor a lot more hectic than I use to, walk from wall to wall, trying to ignore the feeling of wanting to slam my head into the bookshelves as I walk past them.

"_Nothin_'," I snap. "Shit."

I wish I just could forget about the stupid thing I did. But it's in my head all the time, it won't leave me alone. I try to think it's like, no big deal, it's over, it won't happen again 'cause I won't fucking let it, I can just stop thinking about it and pretend it never happened instead of working myself up about it... but it's just there _all the time_.

And I feel cold all over thinking Tim will find out. Or anyone. I'm a fuckin' _guy_ and it ain't right. Things like that girls are doing, it ain't like I haven't heard my brother and other guys talk about who do it and who don't among the girls they are seeing. Guys don't do stuff like that to other guys. So if people found out, they would just think, what the hell, why did he do it? 'Cause I can't tell them he made me. He did, I didn't want to do it, shit, I really, really didn't. But how can I explain that? If I didn't want to, why did I, then? Why didn't I fought him? I should have beat him down, kicked him in his... _there_, for being a pervert even saying what he did.

And I was so stupid, looking for a stupid phone I didn't realize he had locked the door and...

_Shepard._

_I turn around, not seeing any phone anywhere. Where's the fuckin' phone? You said I could call._

_Click. The sound when he opens his belt, moves his hands down to the button, smiling. Yeah, I know. Later. I want something from you first._

"Hey-" Scott starts, and I stop in front of him.

"I think I'm goin' crazy in here," I say wildly, looking around for an escape. But the door only leads out to the corridor and guards, and there are bars on the windows. "I need to get out!"

Scott gives me an uncertain look, and I start pacing again. I know I need to calm down or he will figure something's wrong. But... it just takes over. It's been almost three days and I have to stand undress and shower while everyone's there, and then eat even though I don't want to, and meet people all the time, and I feel so scared that they will find out. This is the first time I'm not around the other guys, except for Scott then, and I'm fucking freaking out.

I drop down in a corner, lean my forehead against my knees. When will I forget and start to feel normal again? It has to happen soon, right? 'Cause I can't stand this. I need some booze, or a joint, or even better; some stronger stuff than that. Way way stronger.

"You okay, Curly?"

I realize Scott has sat down in front of me.

"No," I mumble. And I feel like fucking bawling. I raise my head but I don't look at him. "Maybe I start to get sick or somethin'."

Scott moves so he sits beside me instead, leaning his back against the wall on my left side, not saying anything. It feels weird he do that, that he don't have a book in his hands, but I guess it feels okay, too, 'cause he don't ask any more questions.

It don't slow my head down, though. And it's like it spreads, 'cause my legs start to feel restless, like I have to get up and move again, to run from myself. Only I can't do that, there really is no escape in here, not from locked doors or guards like Bennett or nothing.

And I shudder when thinking about Bennett, knowing I still have two months left in here and what do I do _if_... but there ain't no if's, right? He wouldn't do it again, 'cause next time I'll be smarter and not go with him. Only I guess I would, 'cause it seems to me like I am dumb, and maybe I deserve everything that has happened in here 'cause I am so fucking stupid all the time.

I drag my sleeve over my eyes, quickly.

"You know why I read so much?" Scott suddenly says, breaking the silence, but he don't wait for me to answer. "'Cause I feel like that, too, you know... like it's all too much in here or everywhere... I just like to fill my head with other people's words so I don't have to deal with what's going on inside myself."

It takes a while before I dare open my mouth again. "You mean stuff you can't stop thinkin' about?" I wonder then, while feeling how I stiffen, 'cause I know this is close to be telling him. But I won't do that.

"Yeah."

"Bad stuff?" I clamp my teeth down hard, to stop me from talking.

He shrugs. "Bad stuff, good stuff... sometimes I don't think I can tell the difference." He glances at me. "Some stuff I do I think are good, but then others think they are bad, you know? And then I don't know... maybe I was wrong all the time."

I stretch out my legs in front of me. "Why you care about what some fuckin' teachers or the fuzz say?"

"Not only them. My parents, too. And... other people. Everyone."

I turn my head to face him. He's blushing a little, looking away again.

"So you did somethin' you think is good but everyone else thinks is bad?" I ask. "Is that why you're here?"

"Maybe not exactly but... yeah, I guess. Kinda." He moves to sit cross-legged, accidentally nudging my thigh. "I can't talk about it."

I know that had it been three days ago, I would be nagging at him to tell me anyway. But not now, when I know what it feels like to have some secret you never want anyone to know.

He looks at me again, and I can see he wonders why I don't ask him, and maybe he wants to say it or whatever. But if he do, maybe he expects me to tell him things about myself back.

Tell him about Bennett. What he did.

_I do stuff for you, you do stuff for me. Ain't that how it always works...  
_

* * *

_I tried to not make this chapter being "too much", and I really hope Curly stayed in character, too._

_It wasn't an easy chapter to write, but hopefully you liked it! Thank you so much for reading!_


	14. I Used to Know Everything

**Good Until it Hurts**

**14\. I Used to Know Everything  
**

I don't sleep so good. I lie awake in my bunk as the others snore, feeling so restless and so in no control I don't know what to do. It's a few days since Tim's birthday, and I kind of didn't think of that before, or at least not at the time, _when_... but it happened on Tim's fucking _birthday_. It ain't a day I can just forget about, is it? Maybe I would have, had it been another day, just random or whatever. But now it feels like I will always think of it, being reminded once a year while having to party and trying to have a good time.

But what if I can't do that, what if I always will feel like shit? I place my arm over my eyes, taking deep breaths. What if they ask questions, trying to find out? But it ain't like I will come home and they will say, _what did you do on Tim's birthday_, right? 'Cause no one will fucking care. And I can lie, too. So... maybe it's gonna be okay anyway.

Only it's not gonna be okay, 'cause in the morning when they wake us up I almost can't drag myself out of bed, so I get real late, and it's Adams who's there and it means I have him standing over me, yelling at me for being a lazy idiot, that if I ain't done making my bed soon no one in this cell will be getting any breakfast. The others glare and I drag at my sheets and blanket, trying to make it look good, wanting to shove Adams away 'cause he stands too close. I don't want anyone so close to me. So I do my best to lean away and it makes it harder to do what he wants.

"Adams."

I freeze when hearing the voice.

Adams turns around and mutters something, but I can't do nothing, just clutch the blanket harder before forcing myself to drop it, to act normal.

Bennett walks inside the cell and up to me, fucking smiles when stopping right in front of me, telling me to go stand in the line, that my bunk looks fine enough. I feel like ripping the sheets off again so he won't do me another _favor_, but I don't, and I'm stiff and cold and warm at the same time, feeling nauseous and lonely and sick when I have to walk past him to take my place.

Bennett lets Adams lead us to the showers, but out in the corridor he stays behind a little, walking slower, letting everyone else pass him so that he comes to walk next to me. I wrap my arms hard around my body, staring straight forward at Walter's back while my vision seems to shrink around the edges, biting my teeth down hard.

_I should've bit him. I should've fought back._

_I should've fucking killed him._

"Did you have a good weekend, Shepard?" Bennett asks gently. I don't answer him, 'cause I don't want to and 'cause I can't. I hate how I tremble just 'cause he's close.

He don't say anything else, but he follows all the way to the showers and then to breakfast, and I throw a glance at him when I sit down next to Scott, to make sure he stays where he stopped, in the other end of the dining hall, talking with the other guards.

I don't eat, just push the porridge around the bowl with my spoon, feeling so fucking lost I don't know what I should do. But I know I have to find a way to handle this. To forget about it.

I see that Scott is looking at me, but neither of us talk, and then it's time for school. I thought we would be able to sneak away again, like we always do, but this time when we try to leave, the teacher stops us, wondering if we get some work done since we never are in the class room. Scott says he do, so Mr. Richards turns to me, asking how it's going with my reading and what book I picked. I don't know what to say so I just stare at him, wondering what the fuck he wants with me, but Scott nudges my arm with his elbow.

"It's about flies," I say mechanically, remembering one of my first days here.

"Flies?"

"He's reading _Lord of the flies_," Scott says helpfully, and Mr. Richards shines up. And I guess he must like it a lot, 'cause he talks and talks about the book and that we maybe can write a paper about it and tell him what we think of it, and then finally he lets us go when Scott says we might do that.

I hope he didn't mean it 'cause like hell I will write a stupid paper about a stupid book.

In the library, I remember what Scott said yesterday, about reading and stuff. For some reason we sit on the floor again, but this time leaning against one of the armchairs, and I flip through the book while he looks down at it in my lap.

"You plan to read it?" he asks me, and I shrug.

"Don't know." I turn to another page, look at the letters moving over it and wondering why it ain't like this for everyone, how they fucking do to make some sense out of it so easily. "Maybe."

I struggle with reading some of the words, but I doubt they will help, 'cause so far they don't. Scott looks at me when I mutter, "_This is stupid_," but this time he don't say anything as I close the book and throw it away. Not even when it hits the wall.

xXx

Some days later I wake up in the morning and feel real bad, but in another way than before. I walk in a daze to the showers and then to breakfast, feeling totally out of it, like I ain't even here.

In the dining hall I drop my tray on the floor with a crash, spreading food and milk all over. The guys close by start to cheer and clap loudly, but I only stand there staring at the mess when a guard shows up at my side, grumbling something about causing trouble and grabbing my arm, while another comes up with a dish rag and stuff, shoving everything into my hands and apparently expecting me to clean up. I think I tell them to go to hell, swaying at my feet, and then I don't know, but I find myself down at the floor on my stomach and one of them holding me in place with a knee on my back, shouting at me to stop struggling.

I didn't even know I was struggling, but maybe I was. I don't give a damn about it, though, just let them take me here and there and hear them nag that I must be on something, until they realize I'm apparently running a high fever and I'm taken to the doctor instead of solitary.

Turns out they have a room with a few beds where they place the sick guys, and I'm allowed to lie down and sleep after getting some medicine. So that's what I do.

That's what I wish I could do the rest of my time in this place, sleep it away, but the next day I feel better, and the next day after that they send after a guard to lead me back again.

xXx

I feel so damn hollow.

I don't know...

not anything.

I used to know how to live, about the rules at home and on the streets, I did what I wanted to do and sometimes it went good and sometimes it went bad, but even when it was bad it was mostly good anyway, I mean, yeah my pa used to hit me and my ma never said a thing about it, but that's life, and sometimes after a fight or rumble all I could do was lie flat on my bed and not move at all 'cause of bruised ribs and stuff, and sometimes Tim could be real mad at me for some stupid shit that I did but it never mattered 'cause I always knew the deal.

I knew everything. I never thought about stuff.

It never fucking hurt like this before.

_Yeah, Vincent, that's good..._

xXx

"Did you kill someone?"

This time when I ask him, I feel dead serious. I don't ask him the way I did before, this time it's not for fun. I stare at him hard, standing too close, my jaw set. I need to know, 'cause I need to know what it feels like, need to find someone who can tell me if it makes all the bad stuff go away.

He looks uncomfortable, like he don't know what's up with me, and he shrinks back a little, only the wall is in the way. I backed him up in the corner as soon as we entered the room, the fucking _library_ with all his books he says help him.

"_Did you_?"

He don't answer, and I back away, turn around, smash my fist hard into the wall. _I need to fucking _kill _him._

"Curly?"

_I need to kill him._

Shit. I grab my head with my hands, ignoring the pain.

I can't kill him.

_I sit on the bed, waiting._

_Someone will come and get you soon._

I can't kill him.

_Shepard._

_The voice._

_His eyes._

_His fucking smile._

Scott talks so low I almost can't hear him, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. Then I realize I sit on the floor and bawl like a fucking idiot.

"It's okay," I hear Scott say, and he slowly wraps his arms around me, and I don't know, maybe he's hugging me, it should feel weird and bad and I should push him away, only I don't, 'cause it don't feel bad, and I cling to him instead, grabbing his shirt, not even remembering when someone hugged me the last time, and I feel so ridiculous, stupid, ashamed of that I can't let go.

_His smile._

_I need to fucking kill him._

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviews!  
_


	15. Don't Look Back

**Good Until it Hurts**

**15\. Don't Look Back  
**

It takes a a while before I start to get aware of what I'm doing. How hard I clench my fists into his shirt to hold him in place, how my tears and snot are soaking the front of it. How his hand is slowly rubbing my back, how close his face is to mine. And then it starts to feel embarrassing as hell, too, 'cause I don't even have a reason for acting like this. It ain't like nothing happened before - Bennett just came and got me from the infirmary, took me back here and left me in the class room. Didn't even say a word more than my name.

Only when we walked here, he let me go first. I could hear his footsteps behind me, the clatter of his keys with every step, and it was like I could feel him breathe down my neck, and I... I thought he would stop me at any second, take me somewhere, lock the door behind us, say stuff, force me again to...

to...

Choking on the memory, I push my elbow too hard into Scott's ribs on purpose, pretending not to hear his huff of pain as he lets go of me. I turn around quickly, facing away from him, pressing my hands into my eyes. Everything feels so fucking bad right now, and it seems like I can't stop bawling no matter what I do.

I know, if Bennett wants to... if he wanted to, he could have. Like the other time.

But he didn't, so I don't have to bawl like this. I should just stop.

"Curly, come on..." Scott says weakly. "It's gonna be okay."

"How the fuck do you know?" I manage to snap between my snuffles, still refusing to look at him. I wish he could just go away and leave me alone. I wipe my eyes and running nose with my sleeves, hating what Bennett did to me but I hate this, too. Being so fucking scared. Walking down the corridors with the blood rushing in my ears and the feeling that I would puke if he touched me. It wasn't at all like it was with my pa when I was a kid, when he led me up to my room and I knew he would punish me for something, I was never fucking scared then. Or that time I walked on the wrong street and met three of the Tigers, close to their turf. I knew they had something bad going on with Tim's gang then, that beating me up would give them the revenge that they wanted. But I only stood there and grinned and mocked them, not backing down or nothing. And I was only twelve then.

I force myself to turn to Scott again, thinking wildly it will be real bad if this comes out. I can't go home if they find out how scared I am.

"An' you better keep your mouth shut!" I growl at him.

Scott sits straightening his shirt, and I look at the wet spots by the collar, the fucking evidence of what a cry-baby I am. I feel how my face starts to burn.

"Don't worry about it," Scott says, but I don't know if he means what I said or 'cause of me soaking his clothes. But then he adds, "I have no one to tell. But I wouldn't have anyway."

I keep staring at him, hoping I can trust him. But I guess you never can trust nobody so maybe I should beat him up instead of begging, to make sure.

Only I don't want to beat him up. My hands tingle but it ain't from wanting to clench them and throw them in his face. I couldn't do that... I can beat up anyone, but I don't think I can beat up him. I should be able to, after what I just did, 'cause if someone thinks you're weak or anything, you better make sure they get it that you ain't. It's a fucking street rule, I've known it since I was a kid.

But I can't do anything else than just look at him and feel fucking nervous. He looks it, too, the way he looks back and forth between me and his hands. I rub my own against my legs, trying to think of something to say, but Scott beats me to it.

"You know, what you asked me?" he mumbles. "What I did? To be in here? If I... If I killed anyone."

"Yeah." My fingers catch a loose thread on my pants. I let them play with it, wrapping it around the tips so hard it hurts.

"I actually didn't do anything."

"Yeah, right." I don't roll my eyes, but I guess he can hear it in my voice anyway. He smiles a little, but he don't look happy at all.

"I don't say nothin' happened. Just that it was someone else doin' it."

"What, you mean you got framed?"

"No. Nothin' like that. He was my... he was my best friend. He got into a fight with his dad and it went... real, real bad. And his mom, well, she didn't like me, so when they arrested him she came up with these lies about me. I was there, I don't deny that, but I didn't do what she said I did." He looks down at his hands again, slumping his shoulders. "I've been cryin' too, you know," he adds quietly.

Like that would make me feel better. It don't take away that I did it.

"What, so you cry 'cause your buddy's ma was a fuckin' bitch?" I say instead, almost mocking him, knowing I'm unfair. I guess I just want this to be about him, or anyone, except me.

"No," Scott says. "Just sayin'... things don't get better 'cause someone dies. It only gets worse. It doesn't matter if you hate them or not."

I feel my pulse speed up at his words, thinking he knows nothing about hating someone. Nothing would get worse if Bennett died. Maybe if they caught me doing it, but I know that won't happen. 'Cause I know I won't be able to kill him; if I can't even stop him from doing _that_, how can I kill him?

"It fuckin' matters," I start to say, but then I stop myself when I suddenly realize what he's saying. I stare at him, feeling my eyes widen. "You killed his _dad_?"

"No, not really. It was an accident. He only tried to defend himself. Us." He takes a breath. "Calvin, I mean. His parents... they caught us doin' something... like... and they got real mad and..."

He swallows and shuts his eyes.

"His mom, she tried to say it was me, too, but Calvin told the truth. Well, not all the truth, but that it was him who pushed his dad, that I had nothin' to do with it. And everyone asked why he did it and Calvin refused to say, so then his mom said they caught us with her jewellery box. That we were out to steal her fucking necklaces. That we killed his dad for a few fucking bucks."

He gets quiet for a while, and his voice is hoarse when he continues.

"He got prison and they sent me here. I'm just sayin', it ain't worth it, Curly. It ain't worth to hate someone so much you want to kill them."

I drag at the thread until it snaps. "It ain't the same," I mumble, my heart beating so fast now, his words rushing in my head. "If he hated his pa-"

"He didn't! But his dad hated him right then. You don't get it."

"No shit I don't get it! You said you did somethin' good to be in here. But now you're sayin' you got caught stealin' and killing someone!"

"We weren't caught stealin'! She lied!"

"What did she lie about, then?"

"I can't tell you!" He hides his face in his hands, and suddenly I realize he's the one crying now. Only I don't know what to do about it, how to comfort him, 'cause shit, when it was me he just hugged me like it was natural, but I can't do that. I don't know how. But I can't just sit here watching him either, so I slowly ease myself a little forward, until my knees bump his, trying to find something to say.

"Scott-"

"I just miss him sometimes," he snuffles. "It was so fucking unnecessary, everything that happened. I wish I didn't feel so alone."

"You ain't alone."

He lifts his head and looks at me, straight in my eyes. I meet his gaze, and then he suddenly leans forward and gives me a quick peck on the mouth. It's real light, but I feel his lips on mine, warm and dry, and something flutters in my chest, something I can't understand, only to be replaced a second later with a sharp pain, like someone pushes a knife in me.

_He's like Bennett._

Scott's eyes are blue and clear when he leans back again, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I lift my arms and push him away, so hard he knocks into the wall behind him.

I scramble to my feet so fast I almost stumble, and I don't care that he calls my name after me, I just run, not looking back.

* * *

_I know I know, slow updates... but I really hope you liked this chapter, and thank you so much for reading and your support!  
_


	16. Maybe it Ain't About Guys

**Good Until it Hurts**

**16\. Maybe it Ain't About Guys  
**

I feel totally trapped when I run, looking around wildly at the doors leading to the class rooms, but I can't go in there, not with the panic in my head, the lump in my throat, so where the fuck do I go? Had I been home, I would know plenty of places; had I been home, none of this would have happened; had I been home... fuck, I don't know! And then a guard is there and snatches my arm, taking me by total surprise. I try to snatch it back, cursing loudly at him, throwing my free fist into his face, only to find myself pinned to the floor the next second, with a knee pushed hard into my back. I scream at him and struggle, and more guards come, until I don't know how many of them are sitting on top of me, holding my arms and legs so that I can't move. Someone puts their hand at my temple, pressing my cheek against the cold floor, shouting in my ear to shut the fuck up and calm down. I cuss and keep struggling anyway, seeing only black spots and shoes, trying to take control again but I fucking can't get free no matter how hard I fight them -

and then I'm suddenly alone in a small cell, not really knowing how I got here, but I ache all over and pace frantically, hit the walls with my fists until they bleed, and I can't stop thinking

_Why did he do it?_

_Why did he do it?_

_Why did he do it?  
_

And I think of how I bawled before and how I bawl now and how I can't stop it, think that I can never look anyone in the eyes anymore, think that I don't want to stay here but I don't want to go home either, think of how he hugged me and how it felt, think of him crying, think of what he told me, think of how he leaned forward and what he did and that I maybe didn't mind it so much, maybe didn't really mind it at all, maybe kind of liked it, think that something must be fucking wrong with me, think that I'm alone, think of the look in his eyes when I pushed him away. That he fucking regretted it.

And then I throw myself down at the bunk and just lie there until I don't think anything anymore.

xXx

I sit on the bunk, staring at the wounds on my knuckles when the door opens up again. The guard don't say anything this time either, just picks up the tray from the floor and replace it with another, and I don't ask how long I've been here, how long to go, 'cause I couldn't care less.

xXx

I ain't really surprised that it's Bennett coming to get me. It's always him, ain't it? But I only feel numb when I see him at first, not really care about it until he clasps my shoulder when I walk past him, and then I start to feel how much I hate him again, especially 'cause of his chuckle when I try to duck away and growl at him to not fucking touch me.

I shouldn't have to say it. He should just know he shouldn't do that, not to me. I ain't like that. The thought is running in my head, over and over, that I ain't like that, but then I think of Scott and me and everything and I think that what happened maybe was my own fault for another reason. Maybe it had nothing to do with not fighting back good enough and not manage to get away. Maybe Bennett looked at me and thought I would like it. Maybe that was his reason for picking me, maybe it ain't only Scott who is like him.

But Scott can't be like him. With Bennett... it was scary and disgusting and wrong and he didn't care. I want to throw up just thinking about it, how he forced me. I could throw myself in front of a fucking train if it just made me stop remembering.

But I ain't scared when thinking about Scott. I ain't sure I want to stop remember what he did.

And that makes it totally fucked up, makes _me_ totally fucked up and shit... I am fucked up, ain't I?

Bennett stops by the door leading out from the solitary cells area, and I stop too, a few steps away from him.

"What happened to your hands?" he asks suddenly.

I move my feet, really uncomfortable, 'cause shit, why don't he open the door, so I don't have to stand here alone with him. It's too close.

"I asked, what happened to your hands?"

"Nothin'." I hurry to hide them while taking a small step backwards, glancing at the door behind him. Why don't he fucking open it? It's hard to breathe in here.

I hear him chuckle again. "You afraid of me, Shepard?"

"No." But I answer too fast, and I don't look him in the eyes, either. Shit, I do everything wrong.

He looks at me and smiles, and the walls are suddenly shrinking, making the room smaller than before. I don't know if the cells behind me are empty or not. Maybe if they ain't, if someone is in there, he won't do anything. Maybe if someone can hear, he won't...

I think I don't breathe at all anymore.

And then he laughs and shakes his head, before he takes up the keys, sticks one of them into the lock and turns it around.

xXx

It ain't hard to avoid Scott, 'cause it looks like he's avoiding me, too. He don't sit in his usual spot in the dining hall, and then in school, he sits alone in the front row with a book. He don't even look at me, and I don't look at him, I just sit picking small pieces of the eraser the teacher gave me and throw them at the floor.

In my real school I would have thrown them at girls, but there ain't no girl in here, and I wonder a bit if there was someone I used to think was hot or anything, but I don't even remember. It makes me kind of cold and a bit nauseous, but I try to shrug it off, 'cause no guys date in middle school anyway so it don't have to mean anything. It don't mean I have the hots for... like, guys, or anything. I don't even think a guy can have that... only Bennett doing what he did...

no.

I feel cold sweated. No, I like girls. I ain't like him, 'cause I can't be.

But then, if Scott has the hots for guys... it seems like that, 'cause he was the one kissing me. Maybe he knew what I did with Bennett, and thought I'm the same. So he thought it was okay to... I shudder, glance at him again, at his back, seeing him sitting hunched, and I wish we were in the library talking instead. But I shouldn't wish that. I should want to stay the hell away from him.

xXx

A few days later Scott ain't in the class room anymore. I tap my fingers against the desk, trying to decide if I should go find him or not, but I don't until school is almost over for the day. Then I hastily make up my mind and rise so fast the chair is tipping backwards. The teacher frowns at me but what, it ain't like anyone else is so quiet in here.

I leave the chair on the floor and go before I can change my mind, and I almost run to the library, thinking of how I ran from it, what I thought, and I open the door and the words just come out.

"Why did you do it?"

Scott stands by one of the shelves, putting a book in place, opening his mouth when he sees me. But he don't say anything, just clamps it shut again, turning away.

I close the door behind me. "Why?" I demand, and it comes out harsher than I meant it to.

"Shit, Curly, just leave it," he mumbles.

"No, why?"

He shakes his head and sighs, looking defeated as he glances at me. "I don't know. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry, okay?"

I pretend it don't hurt to hear him say that. It shouldn't hurt. "You think I'm like... _that_?" I spit instead, and something clouds his eyes.

"Like that, what?"

"You know."

"No, really. Like that what?" His hand drops the book, and he finally turns to face me. "Like me? A queer?"

"Uh, what?"

He suddenly glares at me. "Oh come on, don't be stupid."

"I ain't stupid!"

"Why did you come here?" he snaps, and it really pisses me off. Why is he suddenly angry at me, I did nothing to him. I should be the one being angry. I walk straight up to him and push him hard, and he falls back into the bookcase, almost knocking it over, his eyes widen in surprise.

"Don't you ever fuckin' do that again!" I shout at him, my head spinning at the same time, wanting me to say something else. "Don't ever fuckin' touch me!"

"I wouldn't fuckin' dream of it. Get out of my way!"

But I keep standing in front of him. I feel so fucking confused, I don't know what to say or do or-

"Curly-"

"I'm a guy!" I interrupt him, and his face changes again, and instead of mad he suddenly looks puzzled.

"Yeah, I know that."

"You like me?"

He goes very still, staring at me. I stare back, breathing almost as if I have been running a thousand miles before I got here. My head is spinning so fast, but it's something, I don't want to think it but it's there, like maybe -

Before I know what I do I slowly reach out my hand and put my fingertips against his shirt, over his belly. I don't hold close, but I still feel his breaths, almost matching mine.

And I guess I think no one has really hugged me like him before.

I guess I think I never kissed anyone before.

I guess I think...

maybe it ain't about guys. Maybe it just feels good somebody likes me.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading, reviews mean everything! And so sorry for not updating faster.  
_


	17. Nothing

**Good Until it Hurts**

**17\. Nothing  
**

I let my fingers move, travel up over his shirt until they reach his heart, and then I press my hand over it to feel it beat, not really knowing why I'm fucking doing this, my head screaming at me to stop, to continue, that he feels warm, that he's a guy, it's like chaos in there, I wish it could just shut up.

"What are you doin'?" Scott asks quietly, and it's like waking up from a daze. I drop my hand like I burned myself, hastily taking a step back.

"Nothin'!" I say, and it comes out a lot more hostile than I meant it to.

He looks at me with wide eyes. "You're pushin' me away twice and telling me not to touch you, but now you're do -"

"I didn't do _nothin'_!" I interrupt him, starting to glare.

"Didn't seem like nothin' to me. What do you want, Curly?"

"Nothin'! I don't know!"

"Stop sayin' nothin'!"

"I say what I want you fuckin' fag!"

He flinches like I hit him, just staring at me.

"You are, right?" I throw out, my head buzzing so loud I almost can't hear myself, and I pretend not to see the hurt in his eyes when I continue. "You told me you're _queer_, that's a fag, right?"

"Shut up," he whispers.

"I ain't shuttin' up. You are, right? You do things to guys, like _kissing them_ and-" I falter, the image of Bennett coming back, of Bennett grabbing me, forcing me down on my knees, forcing me to open my mouth, and I almost can't talk anymore, feeling dizzy. "-and, and doin' other things!" I feel the bile up my throat again, 'cause I really don't want that memory. I really don't want it around Scott. "It's fuckin' _wrong_!"

Scott's face is red and he almost stutter when he answers. "I'm sorry, okay? I said I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you. I just... shit, Curly, you do stuff, too! You just asked me if I like you, like you wanted me to say yes, you fuckin' put your hand on me-"

I turn away from him, breathing hard, thinking of my hand over his belly, how I felt his heart beating under my palm, him hugging and kissing me, but I'm also thinking of Bennett's smile... I do stuff too, I invite it, maybe...

Scott reaches out and grabs my arm, but I wrestle out of his grip and he lets me go immediately.

"Don't be mad," he pleads, and then the bell shrieks that school is over and we're supposed to go out and stand in a line to go to the dining hall for food. But none of us move.

"Please don't tell anyone about me. And I get it, if you don't want to be friends with me anymore."

"Damn right I don't," I throw out, regretting the words even before I say them, but he don't even flinches this time, just stands there not saying anything or begging me to, I don't know, stay or whatever, so maybe it's him who don't want to be friends anymore.

Like I fucking care.

xXx

After dinner and before work, they take me to the office again, to discuss my behavior, that I've been in solitary twice now, fighting both inmates and guards, stuff like that. I glare down at my lap the whole time while they're saying their shit, sit with my arms crossed, and when I'm finally out of there I ain't even sure if I got another punishment or what.

The guard who walks with me grabs my shoulder when we come back to the cell, and I try hard not to jump and wrench out of his grip. It's getting worse, the chill I feel when people are touching me. I still remember how it felt when they pinned me to the floor and I couldn't do nothing to get free. I don't want it to happen again.

"You have laundry duty today," the guard says with a sneer, letting me go.

So I have to follow him down a stair and through a narrow corridor that makes me feel weird, scared that maybe he was lying and is taking me somewhere else, but then we come to a big, warm room with lots of washing machines and washing lines and tables with folded sheets and clothes and all kinds of stuff.

I notice a few guys I share the cell with, and Law, fuck, but he has left me alone since Mike was removed, so maybe it will be okay. It's also more guards watching us down here, so it probably will be alright. Not that I trust the guards, but at least I don't see Bennett or Adams.

Doing laundry is a harder work than cleaning, though, 'cause it's a lot heavier than I thought, to throw stuff into the machines and then take them out again and hang them up and fold the already dry ones. My arms are aching by the time we're done and it's time for supper and lock up.

It ain't until I lie in my bunk it really hits me, what Scott said and what I said to him about not being friends anymore. That he maybe meant it when I didn't. I guess he meant it, 'cause he looked real hurt about what I said to him, but I don't know if I can take it back, either, if he will allow me to. Maybe it's better he don't, 'cause I'm so fucking confused about everything about him, and maybe I meant it, too, what I said. How the fuck should I know?

I have to turn around and place my face into the pillow, 'cause... shit. I'm just fucking tired.

xXx

Time goes really really slow, and then we are in December and I have only about a month left. I sit by myself all the time, 'cause Scott and I are back to not talking, only I look at him a lot, but he never looks back at me. So I guess I know now, what he wants at least.

There are a few other guys that are trying to talk to me sometimes, but I only answer real short, and when they offer me a cigarette I ask them to go to hell, I ain't falling for tricks anymore. Everyone tries to trick me in here, Mike and Law in the shower room, Bennett, Scott... I think a bit of Tim, how he maybe will notice when I get home that I'm smarter now, only maybe I ain't, 'cause I fucking don't know anything anymore. But at least I make sure to show everyone not to mess with me, like I should have done better in the beginning.

I'm still on laundry duty and maybe that was my punishment 'cause it seems it's mostly the other troublemakers down here, too, and it's a lot of hard words and almost fights all the time, and maybe I am the reason for a lot of them. The guards have to grab me and haul me away from the others almost every day, but every time they fucking touch me I feel cold sweated, scared that they will drag me away to be alone with them, only they don't and I don't know why I'm thinking like that. But it don't stop me from snapping and glaring and cursing at the others anyway. I'm just so angry all the time.

xXx

I don't talk to Scott until it happens again.

xXx

_I'm real little, maybe five or six. Pa is real mad for something I did, only I don't know what, maybe he's just drunk and wants someone to blame for something. It maybe would have been Tim if he had been home, but he ain't, and baby Angela is too little._

_He yells a lot and cuss at me, and I yell back a lot, cussing too, and I try to run to my room but he's bigger and faster even if he almost can't run 'cause of all the booze he had. He grabs my arm and yanks me back, smacking me until Ma says something and he stops._

_I don't cry until I'm in my bed, laying on my stomach 'cause it hurts a lot otherwise, and Tim says to me to shut up, don't be a cry-baby, but then he comes over anyway and sits on my bed and tells me what he did when he was out, and it's something fun so I giggle a bit and don't think so much about what happened._

_Next day I can't sit on the chair so Ma says I can't go to school and that's really great, and Tim stays at home, too, and even if I'm hurting it ain't so bad._

_I think of that, that this ain't worse than that, I don't want it to be worse than that, only it is, it's way way fucking worse, but I don't bawl, not when it happens and not after, I walk like I'm dead 'cause I wish I was, this time there ain't no Tim staying home with me, this time there ain't no story I can laugh at, this time it wasn't my pa being mad, smacking me, this time-_

* * *

_I'm not really sure about this chapter... but I'll keep it for now. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and your support!  
_


	18. Lighter

_Little warning... some details, lots of swearing...  
_

**Good Until it Hurts  
**

**18\. Lighter  
**

Fucking darkness. My thoughts are a mess, my whole body shivering, shaking, feeling like it belongs to someone else. Not me. Why me? His fucking breath in my ear, can still smell it, hear it, feel it, the noise, pain, pain, _pain_, words wheezed _Shut the fuck up!,_ a hand over my mouth.

I need to crawl out of my skin. Get it out. I need to fucking scream it didn't happen.

It didn't happen.

_It didn't happen!_

I go home soon and it never happened. Not to me. Everyone would hate me.

_"What the fuck, Curly? Why you let him do it? Fuckin' disgustin'."_

I know, right. So it didn't happen.

Only I can still feel it. Dull pain and bruises. Fingerprints on my arm, where he grabbed to push me into the wall. But maybe it was only a fight.

I lift my hand and press it over my forehead, hard. The thoughts are coming stronger and stronger. Someone's talking in my head.

_Do it. Do it!_

But fucking how?

_Don't care. Just do it._

Need a heater.

A fucking rope.

Maybe slip a knife down into my sock in the dining hall.

Only they count them.

_..._

_Set the place on fire, then. _

xXx

Shower room. Have to undress. Hate it. Fucking hate it. I hate this place so fucking much.

xXx

He stands by the door in the dining hall and I have to walk past him to breakfast but I pretend, pretend, pretend, grab my tray and get some food and I don't show him nothing.

xXx

"I need a lighter." I don't even look at him. I stand by the wall, just gotten here. Okay so we haven't said a word to each other in like, a week, two weeks maybe, I don't know, I don't count the days but it feels like forever or something. But he's my fucking friend, right, so he's the only one I can ask.

"Um," Scott says, and I think he wonders what I'm doing here. Not _here _here, 'cause we have fucking shared our stories. But here, in the library.

"A lighter," I say again. "Or matches. I don't care."

"You wanna smoke?"

"No." I glance at him and he looks real weird. "Just need a fuckin' lighter, is that too much to fuckin' ask or what?"

"You're askin' me for a lighter?"

I roll my eyes at him, at the stupid question. "Duh."

"I don't have any."

"You can get one. You promised me a cigarette like, when we met, but you never fixed it."

He don't say anything.

"So you gonna give me one or what?"

Still no answer. I press my shoulder harder into the wall. Fuck it then. Fuck it all.

"If you don't want to smoke, why you want a lighter?" He puts his book down, raises from the armchair he's sitting in and takes a step closer. But then he stops. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'." I clench my fists hard, gritting my teeth. "I just need a fuckin' _lighter_."

"Curly, why you... I mean, you think I'm a fag and won't be my friend, but now you come here, expecting me to get things for you?"

"You said it."

"What?"

For the first time I lift my head to look at him for real. "You said it."

"What did I say?"

"You said you don't want to be friends no more. I didn't say it."

He raises his eyebrows while crossing his arms. "Actually, you did. You said _you _don't."

I dip my head again and look away, gnawing on my lip. So maybe I said it, too. Didn't mean I meant it.

"What you need a lighter for?" he continues to pry.

Why's he getting so close? He suddenly puts his hand om my arm and I jerk away, 'cause no way, shit... I could hit him. Not on purpose but I could do it.

"Curly?" He sounds worried and my head is fucking spinning.

"Shut up," I say quietly, but it makes _his _voice coming back - _Shut the fuck up Shut the fuck up Shutthefuckupshutthefuckupshutthefuckup..._

"I just... I just want it." I move past him, over to one of the book shelves. His fucking _hand_ over my mouth.

When I glance over my shoulder, Scott is still standing by the door and looking at me.

"I had this nightmare," I say to him, only it's a lie, 'cause it was real.

"Yeah?"

I don't know what to say to him anymore. It ain't like I can tell him. 'Cause if nothing happened, I shouldn't say it, but if it did, I can't tell anyone, but I think maybe he would know what to say. Or what I should do now.

"I was thinkin'," I say, "that if I had a lighter then I could, you know, when I do the laundry and stuff, I could use it on some sheets..."

"What are you talkin' about?" He almost sounds scared. "Did you dream that?"

"No. Yeah. Maybe. But if I did, they would have to move us out of here, right? I wouldn't have to stay."

"But you're out of here in a month."

"Yeah, but I can't stay. I have to get out _now_."

"Okay, but, shit, Curly... you can't put things on fire, people could die!"

I feel a cold chill up my spine, but I say "So?" anyway, 'cause I don't want to care. I rip out one of the books and open it, watching the blurry words move over the page. Sometimes I think that is the reason for everything happening to me, but it's not, 'cause I don't think I would care about school so much even if I was smart. Maybe I just want it to be the reason.

He moves fast or maybe I just didn't notice the time passing, 'cause he suddenly stands there again, in front of me.

"I can't read," I say to him, flicker my eyes up and down, up on him, down into the book repeatedly. "They just keep holdin' me back in school and calls me dumb 'cause I can't fuckin' read."

He takes the book away from me and I kind of think that I maybe want him to hug me, like he did before, only I don't know if I want him to touch me, either. But weird is, I don't feel so tense when he's near.

"I've heard you read. I know you can read."

"Not good."

"It doesn't matter."

And then he do it. Or maybe I think it's me doing it, but he stands so close anyway so it don't take much to press my body against his, and maybe I don't have to think so much, only do what feels nice. And I think of the hug and the peck and his blue eyes and how his smile look like.

And this ain't nothing at all like it was with _him_, not even close.

And maybe I just need something else to forget.

"You really want this?" Scott whispers, and he's really asking, he don't just do it, and I don't have a lighter, so I kiss him.

xXx

"You think I'm a fag, too?" I ask him quietly as we sit on the floor, our backs against the wall. He holds my hand and I both like it and not.

"I hate that word," he says with a grimace.

"Yeah, but you think I'm a fag?"

"I can't tell you what you are, but you ain't a _fag_, okay? You shouldn't say that."

It don't really calms me down. I have so much in my head right now, I don't know how to sort it out. Like, how can I do things I just did, but then yesterday, when the other thing happened, or the thing on Tim's birthday... when that just makes me want to die. It don't make sense.

"But what if I hate some stuff?" I mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't be a fag if I hate doin' some stuff, right?" I feel that chill again, and my hand is shaking in his grip. "If I really, really, really hate it."

He looks at my hand and then at my face, but I can't look him in the eyes, so I turn my head away.

"You kissed me this time," he says, unsure.

"Yeah..." I think of that, and it was nice. Maybe it is like that to be kissing girls. I think I can kiss girls, but I can kiss Scott, too. And he's no girl.

But I still hate what Bennett did to me, and when I think of that I still panic and shake and want to bawl and throw up and hurt someone, but I push it out of my head again, 'cause _it didn't happen!_

"You all right?"

I shake my head.

"If you regret it-"

"I don't. Or maybe a little."

"We don't have to do it to be friends, you know," Scott says slowly. He drops my hand, and I move it to my lap. "You don't have to kiss me."

"Did you do other stuff with that other guy?" The question is out of me before I can stop it.

"Calvin? Depends on what you mean by other stuff."

"Stuff fags do."

He sighs, but he don't say anything about not saying that word again. "No. We did things _couples _do."

"You're a couple?"

"Was. I wouldn't cheat on him. But he broke up with me, he said he didn't want me to wait for him when he went to jail."

"So you liked it, what he did?"

"That he broke up with me?"

"No, what he did," I say. "The fag stuff."

This time he frowns at me. "Can you stop sayin' that word? And _he _didn't no anything, _we _did stuff together."

I shouldn't have asked. I start to feel a bit dizzy again, and nauseous, and everything, and Scott looks at me closer when I shake even worse. But I don't look at him, I stare at the floor instead.

"So, he never like, beat you up and told you to do things you didn't want to, like... forced you to... I don't know, maybe put his dick in your mouth or anythin', or maybe really, really _hurt you_-"

"_What_?" Scott exclaims. "No, shit, he would never do that-" He interrupts himself, and I feel his eyes on me. "Why you askin'? You think I would... Curly, did someone else-"

"No!" I say angrily, banging my fist against the floor, hard. "_Nothin' happened_."

But everything happened and he knows it. I hear it when he talks, that he knows.

"Who?" He sounds real worried, pushing himself forward so he sits in front of me, grabbing my wrist. "Hey, look at me! _Who_?"

And I don't know why but I meet his gaze, and then I say it.

"Bennett."

* * *

_Fastest update for this story so far? I think so :)  
_


	19. Liars

**Good Until it Hurts**

**19\. Liars  
**

I regret saying it once it's out of my mouth. Fuck, how can I be so stupid, go telling him shit like this? What if he don't believe me? The knot in my stomach grows bigger 'cause I know I have lied a lot before, like, really a lot, but I've never cared if people believe me and stuff, it never mattered before, but what if he don't believe me now, only try and laugh it off, saying, "Yeah right, good joke, man!"?

Or what if he _don't _laugh it off at all, and really believe that it happened? I don't even want him to know, so why did I say it? I can hardly meet his eyes, but then I do anyway, and he looks real shocked.

"Bennett did that?" he stutters, and I can hear it's a fucking _question_, like he doubts me, and it fucking hurts.

"You think I made it up?" I almost shout at him, feeling so angry all sudden, at him, at everyfuckingone in here, at myself for letting it happen, for not being able to shut up about it. Why couldn't I just shut up? My hands tingle so much I have to press them hard into my legs to not start beating on something. Someone. I want something else to hurt.

"I don't think that!" Scott hurries to say.

"What you think then, that I wanted it?"

"No, I-"

"You don't think it was _Bennett_?" I hate saying his name. My whole body stiffens, my head going on a spin. I frantically try to go back to thinking it didn't happen, only it did, and I know it, and now Scott knows it, too. I want to puke.

"I believe you," Scott says fast. "I do. I just never think he would... I mean, he has always been good to me."

"Maybe he should have picked you, then, you're the fag, maybe you would like it!"

He makes a sharp intake of breath, and I know I went way too far, but I can't care about that. I just wrap my arms around me and lean forward, 'cause shit, talking about it makes it so real, making it come back. It was yesterday but somehow it feels like it always happened, like there ain't no before or after. I'm gonna be stuck in it forever, never forget it, always feel it. I don't want to think about it but it's everywhere in my head and I can't stop it.

"Shit, Curly..." Scott says quietly, and he sounds real miserable.

"Fuck it," I sniff, place my arm over my eyes, my breaths coming out hard and fast, like I don't get enough air. "I wanna leave! I don't wanna stay here."

"You have to tell someone-"

"No way!" I snap between my sniffs.

"But if-"

"I don't want anyone to know!"

"But-"

"I said no! No fuckin' but's about it, okay?"

"...okay."

"And you can't tell shit to nobody, either!"

"Okay, I won't. I promise."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Curly-"

"I'm fuckin' scared."

Scott carefully places a hand on my shoulder, and I think wildly of before, what I did with him, kissed him and stuff, and it's another thing I can't tell anyone, maybe it was even worse than the stuff with Bennett 'cause I chose to do that.

Something must be wrong with me, I know it now. I shouldn't want to hug Scott after everything, but I do. And then he do it again, hugs me I mean. He moves carefully, wrapping his arms around me and I let him, I even hug him back, cling to him so hard in a hope it will feel better, and it do a little bit, and I think fuck it, 'cause I just hate to be alone, just like he do, and maybe I need it and the words he whispers, and maybe no one else will ever care about me as much as he do, and maybe this is something good, and anyone saying anything else about it can fucking go to hell.

xXx

The next days I'm real scared that Scott will tell anyone even if he said he wouldn't. I feel like I'm on the edge all the time, especially if someone says something to me, I don't know what but just _something_, or laughs, or looks at me or whatever. Sometimes it feels like everyone knows and thinks badly of me.

And then Bennett. He's making it so much worse every time he's around, and he's around a lot, it's like he's everywhere.

And it's like he don't even remember what he did, maybe don't even think about it, 'cause he just acts normal around other people. How can he act so normal? It ain't fair, that he did what he did and it don't bother him at all, when I can't stop thinking about it and feel so fucking bad about it.

Getting undressed and all that has always been uncomfortable since I got here, after what happened the first day and then 'cause of what Law did and stuff, but it wasn't so bad comparing. But I really, really hate it now, it feels like I don't get clean, like I have things on my body I can't wash off.

I think of Angela, how she could stay in the bathroom for hours at home, using up all the hot water and we would nag at her for that, but I never really cared, I just nagged at her to have something to fight about, 'cause I only took a short shower anyway, didn't care about hot or cold water. Maybe I didn't even change my clothes after if they didn't smell too much. Sometimes after a fight, I maybe even wanted to feel the dirt and blood on me for a while, it made me feel tough, like, immortal or strong or whatever, like I could do about anything.

But now, I don't feel that, I don't feel tough at all, and even if I use a lot of soap it's like I can't get it off, can't wash anything away, and it feels like everyone is looking at me differently, like they can see what Bennett did. Like it's _on _me, on my skin forever.

Scott tries and talk to me, saying it wasn't my fault and stuff. He says it every day, and then he says Bennett is like, almost a foot taller and weights a lot more than me, what could I have done to stop him? And I say it shouldn't matter, he's bigger than my brother but it wouldn't have happened to Tim.

And Scott wonders how I can know that, and that makes me angry, too, 'cause I _know_ it wouldn't happen to Tim. It wouldn't happen to anyone.

"Why didn't you stop him, then?" Scott says, trying to provoke me, and I know he wants me to admit that I couldn't, that I tried but couldn't.

So I say 'fuck you' and we're almost back to fighting, only Scott don't let it happen again, he always makes sure we don't start to argue too much, saying he's sorry for what he said. But when I have calmed down, he goes back to nagging again, saying it wasn't my fault and that I have to realize that before I go home.

And when he says that I feel even worse, 'cause I really want to leave but I'm going to miss him.

Only I don't say it.

"What you gonna do when you come home?" he asks, and I really don't know what to answer. So I shrug. I think of school but I don't think I'm going back there, I have too much to catch up and I'm never gonna be able to do that. I don't want to, either. So maybe I'll try and get a job, I tell him.

"You live in Tulsa, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm from Oklahoma City. You go there sometime?"

"No, I can't afford it."

Scott sits silent for a while. Then he says, kind of quiet, "You think you wanna meet up sometime? Maybe do somethin' we can't do in here."

I tense up a bit. "What you mean, do somethin'?"

"Like, go to the movies, or get a burger or somethin'. I don't know. Maybe it's a stupid idea."

"You did stuff like that with Calvin?"

Scott nods. "Yeah, we did. But I don't mean we have to, you know, go on dates or stuff. Just hang out as friends."

"Yeah but I can't."

He looks puzzled. "Can't what? Go as friends?"

"I don't got a lot of money. Maybe I can pay for the movie if we can't sneak in or whatever, but I can't go to Oklahoma City."

"Maybe I can come to your place, then."

I get quiet, 'cause I think he can't, I don't want him to. I don't care if he sees where I live or whatever, it ain't that. But I can't have him there, meeting my brother and friends and stuff.

"You don't want me to come?"

"I don't know." But I can tell he can tell that I'm lying.

"It's fine if you don't want me to," he says, but shit, he's a fucking liar, too, and I hate the look in his eyes.

"Didn't say I don't want it. I said I don't know," I mutter, ripping my hand from his and stand up. I walk to the other side of the room, then back, then to the other side again. Back and forth, back and forth.

Thinking it don't matter what I do, whatever I pick, it will be the wrong decision.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and your support! _


	20. January 7th

**Good Until it Hurts**

**20\. January 7th  
**

"You ain't gonna say shit to me?" Tim says, sounding both annoyed and amused at the same time. "I'm goin' all the way here to get you and you give me the silent treatment?"

I make a half shrug, push my hands deeper into my pockets and kick at the snow as we walk toward his car. It's fucking freezing outside, and I use that as an excuse to huddle inside my jacket, but I steal a glance at him as soon as he turns his head away.

Seeing him again after three months feels so weird. When I first saw him I almost got surprised he don't look older, that he looks the same with his black hair and scar and leather jacket, eighteen now - _don't think about that _\- and able to come alone to pick me up. But I can't help but wish it was pa that came instead, 'cause he wouldn't say anything else than maybe cuss at having to pay for all the gas driving out here. He wouldn't care to ask anything, wouldn't notice if I didn't say a word.

Tim stops, lean his back against his car and wait. I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away the snow falling into my eyes.

"Got a cigarette?" I ask him, and it comes out too fucking quiet.

He hands me the whole pack, gives me a strange look as I snatch it from his hand and move a couple of steps away from him. I know he wonders what's up with me, and the lighter shakes in my hand as I try to set the stick on fire.

I look up and meet his gaze, and I'm dreading that he knows. I'm leaving this place but I don't leave anything behind, it's even with me now and if he can read my thoughts, if he can really see them, I think I want to die. He's my brother but I feel so far away I don't know how to come back, if I can keep pretending 'cause I'm fucking failing already. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the cigarette, I can't even feel it when putting it between my lips, everything tingly and chilly and it feels like I'm falling.

"You cold?" Tim says, picking up the keys from his pocket.

"Yeah," I mumble.

He makes a small movement with his head. "Get in the car, then. I'll put the heater up."

I do as he says, fumble with the car door as I shut it, leaning back and closing my eyes.

Shit, I'm going home. I'm really going home, and it should be a relief but it's not.

I snap my eyes open again as Tim closes his door and puts the key in the ignition. "Wanna stop somewhere to eat?" He throws a quick glance at me as he pulls out of the parking lot. "Got any dinner today?"

"No, just breakfast." I light another cigarette, move my seat back and put my feet up on the dash board as we drive. He don't say a thing about the dirt and snow I leave on it from my shoes, still keeps his mouth shut as I go through the pack, light one cigarette after the other, trying to smoke out all the thoughts having a fucking war in my head.

I keep staring out the side window at the fields and trees we're passing, my thoughts all messed up, I'm sure he must notice. Sometimes I think he wants to say something, ask questions, but he don't - he only lets the radio blast, so maybe he don't want to talk to me. Or maybe he just likes the music.

About half way home he turns the volume down, asks again if I'm hungry. This time I tell him I am and he turns a couple of times before parking outside a DQ. I follow him into the hamburger joint, ignoring all the people in there while watching him order, not really listening to what he gets us, and I know he asks what I want to have but I don't answer. Don't matter, I get a Coke and a burger and fries, and that's fine with me. The food should taste good after the bad food in juvie, but every bite grows in my mouth, and Tim is finished long before me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he says eventually, leaning back and placing his empty glass on the table. It ain't an accusation, though, he sounds almost like he cares. "You eat like a little girl, and you've said about two words since I picked you up." He grabs the pack I put on the table as we sat down, shaking out the last stick.

"I'm just tired, okay?" I snap, feel my cheeks start to burn, and I bow my head while picking at my fries, just to have something to do with my hands. I really wish I took the last cigarette before he did. "Fuck off."

"You have always wolfed down a burger faster than me."

"I ain't hungry."

"You said you were when I asked." He grabs some fries from my tray. "You ain't happy goin' home? You liked being locked up in there?"

I hastily look up, finding him smirking at me.

"No, I fuckin' hated it!" I exclaim. "An' you don't even know what it's like 'cause you've never been there!"

"'Cause I'm too fuckin' smart to get busted."

"Yeah, but you could've come," I grumble, looking down again, knowing I wouldn't have wanted him to come anyway.

Or maybe I would. Maybe it had felt good, knowing he cared enough to come and see me. Only it's probably better he didn't, 'cause this really sucks.

Tim sighs. "You mad I didn't visit, is that it? Shit, it ain't like you were gone forever. Three fuckin' months are nothin', Curly."

I blink a couple of times, continue to stare down at the table top. In his eyes three months may be nothing, but everything changed for me.

"Shit, I didn't think you wanted me to baby you," Tim says a bit annoyed.

"I didn't want that!"

"Then what the fuck is the problem?"

"Nothin'! I don't care if you didn't come, okay? I said I'm just tired!"

We go quiet after that, the silence strained for a while, before he shortly asks if I'm finished. I nod, and he gets up to leave, not even bothering to see if I'm following him or not.

As we head back to his car, I start thinking I wish Scott had been here instead. I could have told him, or not, but he still would know how to make it better, what to say. I would get a little time without having to pretend, could tell him what I wanted and he wouldn't judge me.

I need to hear his words so fucking badly right now. I don't know if I would believe them, but at least I wouldn't feel so fucking alone.

xXx

_He picks up my clothes from the brown paper bag - the one from my first day here - tells me to undress and put them on. I stand by the wall, really trying to do that, but I can't move, can't get my arms to drag the sweater over my head. It's just a small room, a small space with no window, a locked door, just like the other times, and I can't -_

_"Shepard."_

_I snap my head up, but meeting his gaze makes me shake. Fuck, I hate that he makes me feel like this, act like a stupid, weak little boy. Why can't I fight him, I could fight anyone, I wouldn't give up without trying._

_"C'mon. Get changed, you're goin' home. Don't you want to go home?"_

_I want that. Christmas and New Year went by, we're in 1966, beginning of January, actually the 7th, my release date. I only had breakfast and then I was taken here to get my own clothes back. By him._

_He steps closer and I try to shrink away, but I have the wall behind me, and I can't fight. It wasn't your fault, Scott kept saying, all the time since I told him, every day, but he don't know a thing. He don't know how I just stand here and let him put his hand on my shoulder, not saying anything, not even trying to push him off._

_Not my fault but it is my fault. I'm doing nothing to stop it._

_'Cause I know there is no use anyway. If he wants to, he just do it. Maybe I should just let him, it wouldn't be the first time anyway. Don't matter anymore, right? It can't be worse and it can't be better, it's just something that happens._

_Something that happens to me._

_He tugs at my sweater, saying, "You need help with that?" Pressing closer, and I shut my eyes so hard I only see dark._

* * *

_I wasn't sure if I should post this with the traffic stats still not working... to see the views, knowing someone reads this really means a lot! But it's been a week now and since we have to idea when they will fix the problem, I feel I couldn't wait updating.  
_

_Please review and let me know what you think/that you read :)_


	21. Never, Ever

**Good Until it Hurts**

**21\. Never, Ever  
**

The closer we get to Tulsa, I get more and more tense. My heart goes pretty wild as we turn into our neighborhood, and I don't want Tim to notice anything, but I can't help shifting in my seat and keep clenching my hands, so much Tim starts to throw strange glances at me. Shit, I guess he must notice, then, but at least he don't say a word about it. Actually, he hasn't tried to talk to me again all the ride here, and that's a good thing, 'cause then I don't have to try and come up with lies and stuff. It wouldn't be a problem before, but now I have a hard time thinking.

He parks on the curb outside our house, and I realize I really don't feel like going inside. I don't know why, I just don't. I don't feel happy or relieved or whatever, I ain't sure what to feel or do, so how am I supposed to know how to act? I haven't been away from home before and that means I haven't had to come back, either, and especially not like this, all fucked up in my head. But I can't stay in the car, especially not when Tim climbs out and gives me another funny stare, so I have to open my own door and force my feet to move and go after him up on the porch.

Inside I let the front door slam shut behind my back, but I stop in the hallway, looking around. Our living room looks the same, all messy and smelling of smoke and beer and old food. I don't see any sign of Pa and Angie - it ain't like I expected some fucking welcome home-party or anything, but maybe I thought they at least would be home, to say hi or whatever. Ma's probably here though, 'cause she never leaves the house if she don't have to. Not that she would come out and greet me or whatever anyway, but I don't need nobody, besides, I'm home now and the only thing I want is to forget about juvie, forget that I even was away and just go back to how it was before.

Not that I know how to do that, 'cause it hasn't started out that great, has it? I stare at my shoes and Tim sighs heavily, crosses the floor to the closed bedroom door and knocks on it. I don't hear Ma answer, but I listen to Tim saying we're back now, reminding her that he went to pick me up today, but the door won't open. I look up in time to see the look in his eyes when he turns his head, and I think _fuck it_, who really cares, right? I already knew Ma is all depressed and moody and stuff. Maybe she just took a beating, then we won't see her for a while.

"Got another cigarette?" I ask, luckily my voice sounding normal, 'cause I think I fucking need one.

"Didn't you smoke enough on the way here?" Tim says, but he walks over to the coffee table, starting to check under some newspapers and pizza cartons for a pack, only it seems there ain't any.

"Don't bother," I mutter, and he stops looking and sits down in the armchair, kicking up his feet onto the coffee table. I wonder a bit if he still has his job, if he has to go soon, but I guess he had to take the whole day off for me so maybe he'll be home all evening. Only it's Friday, so maybe not.

Like he could read my mind, he says, "I'm headin' out later, some stuff's goin' on out on Apache. Wanna tag along?"

I open my mouth to say 'fuck yeah', 'cause I mean, I always, always wanted him to ask me that before. But I don't know what stops me, why I feel so nervous all sudden. Maybe it's 'cause I don't know if he ask me 'cause he really wants me there, or only 'cause I'm his brother. Maybe it's the thought of people seeing me, and what if they figure, what if they find out? What if I won't be able to hide it, what happened? What if they ask too many questions, what if I drink too much and say things out loud?

My head is spinning of all the what if's, making me feel like I want to throw up. I wish Tim could get up and put the damn TV on, or the radio, maybe, so it wasn't so quiet. Maybe I should go with him later, drink it all away, maybe get my hands on some stronger stuff, if that guy Allen shows up tonight.

Only I don't have any money. Shit. I suddenly feel real awful, and not saying anything I hurry to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I sit on the toilet lid for a long time, not caring if Tim wonders what I'm doing in here. He's the last thing I think about really, but I thought I needed to be alone but now when I am, it's just getting worse. I feel so edgy, and my clothes are suddenly itching, feeling dirty, and _fuck it_, I need to wash them or throw them away 'cause _he _fucking gave them to me. I almost gag at the thought, that it was only a couple of hours ago, today, this morning. I was in juvie _this morning_, and Bennett -

Don't think about it! But it's fucking impossible, he goes into my head again and won't fucking disappear. I know I breathe faster, and I have to try and slow it down before I start bawling. Nothing got better coming home, I don't know what to do, how to deal with this. Scott would know but he ain't here, he ain't here to make it all better.

I press my fist into my forehead, hard, wanting to smack both of them into a wall, feel the pain in my head and hand instead. I get up on my feet and try to pace, but I'm trapped in here, no where to go, except going out but Tim is there and he can't see me like this.

My gaze lands on the shower, and maybe that will help. Shit, I haven't taken a shower alone in three months, but I hate to shower, but maybe it will help, washing it away.

I start with my shoes and it goes fine, and then I take off my socks. My hands are shaking badly as I drag the shirt over my head and I almost can't open the button of my jeans, and I think too fucking much, think of how I hate getting undressed, think of hands and breaths and pain and things shoved into my mouth as I drag them off me and leave them in a heap on the floor.

I start bawling for real then, and fuck this shit, I quickly step into the shower and turn the water on so no one will hear.

xXx

The bottle in my hand is already half empty, even though coming here only ten minutes ago. I walk along Apache street, passing cars standing parked all over, listening to the sounds of people talking and laughing and fighting. It was supposed to be a drag race tonight, and some let their cars skid away over the road, but it's too much snow and ice on the ground for anyone really wanting to step on the gas for real, so no one really cares who wins or not. But everyone cares about getting drunk, and I do, too.

I tell myself I feel good. I think the booze is helping, and I don't take sips, I take gulps, and before I know it I have finished the bottle. I burp, and it burns in my throat and mouth, making my head spin even worse.

Someone's walking backwards and stumble into me. He grabs my arm to steady himself, but before I can push him away he's grinning at me, letting me go.

"Curly! Shit, haven't seen you in a while. How's it goin', man? I heard you went in."

"Yeah. M'fine." I look at my bottle while he goes talking, asking things but never waits for an answer, I don't even know the kid but I think he maybe is in my grade at school. I don't listen to anything he says, blocking it all out and sway in my place, letting the drunkenness hit me more and more for every minute.

A couple of guys walk up, one of them slinging his arm over the first one's shoulders, passing around a bottle. I throw away the one I'm already holding when it comes to me, raise the new one to my mouth and down it.

I don't really know what happens next. I'm alone again, walking back and forth along the street, avoiding people. Everything is a blur, people, cars, trees, I think I walk around for a while and maybe drink some more, and then I lie on the ground and something wet and cold seeps through my jeans, and someone lifts me up by my collar and shakes me.

"Shit, Curly, how much did you drink tonight?"

"Dunno." I try to swat his hands away, but he ignores it and drags me to my feet. "Shit, lemme sleep," I protest.

"Not out here, it's fuckin' January."

He drags me to his car and I think a lot of people has gone home already, 'cause it's only a few vehicles left. Tim opens the door to the passenger seat, and I throw myself down, closing my eyes as the world don't stop moving.

"Don't throw up in my car," Tim says threatening, slamming the door shut.

Next I know he's dragging me up the stairs to our room. I really feel like puking, and I say so, and he sighs and takes me to the upstairs bathroom. It's real small and everything so he don't fit in there with me, so he pushes me down onto my knees just inside the door and opens the toilet lid, standing in the doorway and looking at me. I cling to the seat and wait for it, but nothing comes up.

"Gonna puke or what?" Tim grunts impatiently.

I just mutter something and then it comes, all the booze I had, and when I'm done I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I can't get up on my own and Tim has to help me, and I almost shout at him to not fucking touch me, but he's my brother and he wouldn't do anything, but the place is so fucking small and I feel trapped. I push at him and he lets go, letting me fall back against the wall.

"The fuck, Curly?" Tim growls, and I stagger up to the sink and turn the tap on. I drink some water and splash it onto my face, almost losing my balance again.

Tim has to help me to our room, but thankfully, he just drops me onto my bed and lets me lie there, wet clothes and shoes and everything. I think if he would start trying to take anything off me, I would kick and scream at him. But instead I fall asleep with everything on, my last thought that drinking didn't help one bit, I thought about it all night, all the bad stuff, and it's spinning worse in my head when I realize it will never, ever go away.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, your support means everything!  
_


	22. Not a Clean Slate

**Good Until it Hurts**

**22\. Not a Clean Slate  
**

"No way, I ain't goin'!" I raise from the chair so fast I accidentally knock over my glass of orange juice, the drink spreading over the table top and starting to drip over the edge in front of my sister.

"Curly!" Angie shrieks, jumping up quickly before it lands in her lap. "Be more careful, will ya? These are my last clean clothes!"

She brushes past me, complaining loudly at my clumsiness, but I ignore her and turn back to Tim. "I ain't goin'!" I repeat, trying to not sound too desperate.

"I heard you the first time," he mutters.

"You're only fourteen, you have to go," Angie snorts, walking over to me again, with a wet rag in her hand. Before I know it she throws it at me, and it smacks against my stomach before I manage to catch it. "Clean up your mess, dip stick!"

"I don't have to go!" I drop the rag in the puddle, but I don't care to wipe it up. Instead I continue to stare at Tim, hoping he will say something I want to hear before I panic. But he just sits there, eating his breakfast. "You can't make me!"

"You're so stupid sometimes," Angie says, and I almost punch her, if she wasn't my sister I swear I would do it.

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tim snaps at both of us, raising with his cup of coffee in one hand, pointing at me. "Be ready in ten, and don't fuckin' argue about it, Curly. You're goin'."

I grab the back of my chair with both hands, shove it so hard it bounces against the table and tips over, before I turn around and stomp out of the kitchen. I'm so angry I have to knock my fist into the doorpost when I walk by, but I don't even feel the pain until I'm out on the porch, and then I curse, shaking my hand to make it stop hurting.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest, thinking about school. It makes me real nervous and cold sweated, 'cause shit... I don't want to go back. I don't even know why Tim cares if I go to school or not, and he ain't my pa, so he can't decide what I can or can't do. And if he don't listen to me, maybe I should just book it, it ain't like he would drive around looking for me if I wasn't waiting out here. But I guess it would give me trouble later, so maybe I don't have a choice.

I grab the pack of smokes from my pocket, lighting a stick and trying to calm down, only it don't work. I press the heel of my hand into my forehead, sniffing in the cold air. Shit, what am I gonna do? I can't do this, I really, really can't.

I go inside again, avoid the kitchen where I hear Tim and Angie still talking, and head up the stairs to my room. I take a last drag of the cigarette before putting it out against the wall, throwing myself down onto my bed, dragging the cover over me, clothes and all. I don't care. I just squeeze my eyes shut hard, trying to think of good things but the bad ones are everywhere, always, always -

There is a knock on the door, but whoever it is don't wait for my answer before it squeaks open. "Tim says you have to hurry," Angie says.

I don't answer, hoping she will just go.

"Curly, come on!" she starts to whine. "I have to meet Donna and Vickie before school starts! It's really important, so can you come now? He said we won't leave 'til you drag your ass downstairs."

"Fuck it, I told him I ain't goin'!" I say into the pillow, my voice all muffled.

"I can't hear what you're sayin'!"

I repeat what I said a little louder.

"He says you have to. And why are you lyin' under the covers anyway, it looks stupid."

"I'm tired, go away."

"You gonna be like Ma now?"

I turn around and sit up fast. "Get the hell out of here, Angie!" I shout at her, and she frowns where she stands in the doorway.

"Don't call me that! I told you I'm _Angel_ now, remember?"

I remember. Too clearly. It was the first time... after the first time he... and I had to call home, he made me... he made me... I throw away the cover, get up on my feet and walk toward her. I place my hands against her shoulders, and before she knows what's happening I push her so she stumbles over the threshold out of my room, not bothering to look if she falls or not, and then I slam the door shut so hard the walls are shaking. I sit down, or my knees just buckle under me, and I hide my face in my hands, cursing inside my head, forcing the words out of my mouth, trying to get rid of the memories but I can't, I can't -

I don't really hear Angie's angry shouts, or Tim coming up the stairs, but I feel it when he tries to open the door and it stops by my back.

"Curly, open the damn door."

I try to press it backwards when he pushes at it, but he's stronger than me. I realize it even more when he manages to come inside and I get up on my feet and we start brawling. He tries to get a hold of me but I hit him in the face, and he hits me back, all the time cussing under his breath at me.

I want to beat him so badly. I wish I was like him, 'cause then nothing would have happened to me. If he had let me be a true member of his gang, I would have been tough like him a long time ago. I always thought I was tough, real tough, one of the toughest hoods in town 'cause I'm a Shepard, right, but then I'm just _not_, just a fucking stupid, crying mess in juvie, who don't say no and stop it and don't fight back. Only I did fight back, but I was too fucking weak, and I can't let him know that.

Tim has me pinned against the wall, his arm over my throat, shouting in my face to calm the fuck down. But I can't, not when he holds me like that, when I can't get loose even if I try, and I feel blood taste in my mouth and a trickle down my chin. I try to hit him again, kick at him, but he only holds me harder.

I breathe hard and ragged, the panic getting worse and worse, but I try to tell myself that it's _Tim_, it's my brother, I'm home, not in juvie, it ain't going to happen again. I feel hands all over me but it's just a memory, a stupid, fucking memory.

Tim looks real pissed, but as soon as I manage to stop struggling he lets me go and wipes under his nose with his sleeve. "The hell was that?" he growls at me. "Go clean up, and I swear, Curly, if you ain't in my car in two fuckin' seconds, I'm gonna beat the hell out of you!"

He gives me one last push as he walks past me, his elbow digging into my chest, and leaving me standing there, almost out of breath, feeling the lump in my throat growing bigger.

xXx

Tim don't say anything as he drops us off at school. He don't even look that I go inside, but I do, trying to ignore the way people are looking at me. It ain't like they can know, they look at me 'cause of my better reputation, that I was in juvie, not for some other reason.

Only, what if they know what can happen in there, then... my steps falter, and suddenly it seems like the looks are changing. What if they think it maybe happened to me? What if they know about the things I did with Scott, too? I don't know what they are thinking, but in my head it feels like they all are disgusted by me, making fun of me, and it takes everything I have to not turn around and run.

Angie goes around a corner and disappears into the toilets, arm in arm with two other girls, and I try to make my way to my locker, only Mr. Shaffer shows up and asks me to come with him.

I feel a pang of panic again. I don't want to go with anyone, I know what happens when you do. But he has this expression saying he won't put up with anything, so I try to push it down, try to stretch up and walk casually, act normal. His office has windows, right, and he never locks the door or anything, and he has his secretary or what she is just outside too, and she would hear if he did something, wouldn't she?

"I just wanted to have a little talk before classes," Mr. Shaffer says when we have sat down, him behind his desk, me in one of the chairs in front of it. "First of all, welcome back to school. I'm not going to bring up what happened if it doesn't turn out necessary. As far as I'm concerned, you took your punishment and I strongly assume it won't happen again. We will leave it behind us and start on a clean slate, focusing on your future instead. Does that sound good, Vincent?"

He sits quiet until I answer, so I mutter, "I guess."

"It means that what happens next is a lot up to you. You were behind in every class even before you, well... went away, and I'm not sure how much school work you have managed to accomplish during your time away from Cleveland."

Another pause, but I have no idea what to say this time. It's just stupid, being here, I haven't done nothing, and when he finds out he will just hold me back another year, making me two years older than everyone else in my grade. I wish I was sixteen, so I could drop out and no one could say anything about it.

"I have asked your teachers to examine what you need to be able to catch up with the other students, but it will require a lot of work from you. Are you with me on this?"

I stare at my lap and shrug.

"Vincent, you don't have that many chances." He sounds a bit annoyed now. "Maybe this is your last chance to get on the right path, and I really hope you'll take it." His chair squeaks and I stiffen, ready to bolt if he stands up, but he just leans back, watching me in silence for a while. Then he sighs, probably when he realize I won't talk to him.

"You can go to your first class now. I'm here if you need me."

I leave his office just as the first bell rings. I go to my locker, but as I'm about to open it I don't remember the code, and I don't know what my first class is, either. I think for a moment, trying to decide if I should go back to the office and ask, or ditch, and really, it don't take that long to make up my mind.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading! Fast update this time, hopefully worth reviews...  
_

_:)_


	23. One Cigarette

**Good Until it Hurts  
**

**23\. One Cigarette**

I don't have any plan, I just leave. I know I don't want to go home, even if I know Ma wouldn't care, and I don't want to go to any of the usual hangouts either, 'cause it's always someone there, guys ditching like me or if they already have dropped out and do nothing in the days. I really don't want to meet anyone I know, I don't want to talk to no one, I don't have anything to say. I just need some fucking way to go back to normal again.

I could catch a bus, going somewhere else. To some big city like New York or Los Angeles, maybe that would be nice. Or go to some smaller place I've never heard of before, or maybe to another country like Mexico or Canada. If I were eighteen, I could enlist even, go to Vietnam.

I almost wish I had some money, but then what? Even if I had it, where should I go? I don't know if there is a place that would get all the bad stuff out of my head, make me stop thinking of shit all the time. If I could find any, maybe I should steal a car and then just drive there, then maybe everything could be all right again. But I don't know, I just need to figure out a way to do this, 'cause I guess even if I did leave I wouldn't get away, 'cause no matter what I do I'm stuck. It's my fucking head that is the problem.

After walking around for what feels like hours, I lift a pack of smokes in a corner shop, mostly to have something to do. After smoking so little in juvie I don't really feel the need anymore, but I don't want to think about juvie, and smoking is good. It's just a kid behind the counter anyway, looking nervous as I step inside, like he already knows I'm trouble. I kind of like that, and I don't do any of the usual tricks, just snatch a pack of Kools from the shelf and put it in my pocket while he's looking.

"Uh, you have to-"

"What?" I snap. He looks real scared, and I think about what it would feel like to jump over the counter and start beating on him. I think it would feel so good, being the one with power. I ain't weak, and I wouldn't be if I jumped him either, 'cause he's my size, so it wouldn't be like beating on someone smaller than me. It wouldn't be like he couldn't defend himself.

"You, uh, you have to pay for that. My uncle, he's comin' back soon and I -" He stops, staring as I take up the pack again and rip it open, put a cigarette between my lips. I know it's stupid. Everything I do is stupid, but before, doing like this wouldn't bother me one bit. Me and Davy, we always did stupid shit, shoplifting and stealing cars and fighting and breaking things for fun, we never cared about who saw us. But maybe I should care now, 'cause the last time I did something illegal, Mr. Shaffer's neighbor called the fuzz and everything happened after that.

My hands start shaking again, and then the door opens and a little bell jingles. Maybe it's the uncle, and I quickly drop the opened pack onto the counter, but I keep the stick I took when hurry outside, almost bumping into the man walking in.

I walk fast, looking backwards now and then, my head spinning. What if the kid tell on me, call the fuzz? Then I will fucking kill him, but I doubt he'll dare, he looked like a fucking pansy. But what if anyway, and they send me back to juvie? I feel even colder thinking about it, 'cause I can't go back!

I don't dare to stop until I'm far away from there, and I hate myself for it. What am I, not a greaser anymore? Tim will never let me into his gang if I keep up like this, if he figures out I almost can't fix my own smokes anymore.

I force myself to calm down, lean up against a wall and light up the cigarette. It should be cool now, I shouldn't be in trouble, but just as I think that a car drives up next to me on the sidewalk. I stand like frozen when it stops and the cop in the passenger seat rolls down his window.

"Hey, kid?" he says suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

The one driving leans a little forward, looking out through the window, too. "It's the damn Shepard-kid," he mutters. Then a little louder, "Causing trouble again, Shepard?"

I think my heart stops right then. I quickly drop the cigarette and stomp on it, thinking frantically that they don't have any evidence, they can't prove I stole a cigarette if I don't have it, besides, it was _one _fucking cigarette, it don't even count as stealing.

They both leave the car and it's fucking too late to run. I think of the last time I was arrested and thrown up onto the hood of a car, forced to be lying on my stomach, my hands jerked back and my wrists locked into handcuffs.

"What you up to, Shepard?" The one who was driving glares down at me, standing so close I press my back against the wall. "What are you doin' in this part of town?"

"Nothin_'_," I mutter, doing everything I can to hide that I'm fucking almost losing it. I feel how I start shaking, my head making up pictures of happenings a lot worse than this.

"Nothing, you think we'll believe that?" the other cop snickers. At least he keeps a little distance, but I still feel sick. "This ain't your neighborhood, is it? Too nice for kids like you."

"I'm just walkin'. I'm allowed to walk, ain't I?" I cross my arms and look away, fighting against the panic building up.

"You on something, kid?" First cop moves closer, if that's even possible, leaning down to look into my eyes. "Hey," he almost shouts, grabbing my chin. "Look at me."

"Fuck, let go."

"Get in the car." He lets go of my chin but grabs my arm instead, drags me away from the wall, giving me a push in the back toward the street. I get a chill all over, but my feet move anyway, and I do as he says, jumping into the back seat as he holds up the door. I can't even think and I never stop things from happening. I lean my head back and close my eyes, my heart beating so hard in my ears, it feels like it will jump out, maybe I'm having a heart attack or something. I knot my hands, dig my nails into my palms, push my fists hard into my thighs. I'm going back to juvie. I'm going back to juvie. The thought repeats itself, spinning around and around in my head, _shit, I'm going back to juvie for stealing _one _fucking cigarette and I didn't even finish it_.

I hear them talking but not what they say, I have to concentrate on breathing. Only when the car stops I look up and see my own house outside the window. Confused I lean a little forward, staring at it.

The driver stays in his seat this time, when the other cop jumps out and gets me out of the car, holds my arm in a steady grip as he drags me up onto the porch and knocks on the door.

"Anybody home?" he asks me when no one answers.

"No," I mutter, even if I know Ma is. But apparently he knows it, too, 'cause he opens the door and calls,

"Mrs. Shepard?"

"She's asleep!" I protest.

"I thought you said nobody was home. Listen Shepard, either she comes out here to talk, or she will have to pick you up down at the station, and if you think that's good for your record, think again."

He lets go of my arm, and I trudge inside, feeling a little safer but wondering how the hell I will manage to get Ma to come. But it seems the fuzz don't know about what happened in the corner shop, so maybe it means I won't go back to juvie, at least.

I knock lightly on the bedroom door, then push it open. I know she won't answer anyway. As usual she lies under her blankets in the bed, and I walk up to her and nudge her, thinking of all the times Tim has said to don't disturb her. But it ain't like I have any choice.

"Ma?" It takes three times before she stirs, and every time I have to push at her a little harder. "Ma?"

"I'm just restin' a little bit, baby," she mumbles tiredly, but at least she turns around to blink up at me. "Your pa home, yet?"

I shake my head. "Ma, a cop wants to talk to you."

She lifts a hand and puts it on her forehead. "A cop? What did you do now, Curly?"

"Nothin'. I didn't do anything."

"So go tell them."

"I did but they wanna talk to you anyway."

She don't say anything for a long while, just closes her eyes.

"Ma?" I try again, and she sighs heavily.

"I can't talk to no one lookin' like this. Where's Tim?"

"He ain't home." I bite my lip. "Ma, come on, just go out an' tell him I didn't do nothin'."

She sits up, clutching her blanket. "I don't want them in my house. I don't know why you keep doin' this to me, Curly."

I leave her bedroom, hoping she will follow. The cop stands just inside the door, staring at our messy living room, but I don't care, I just go to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I take my time, and when Ma finally comes out, I walk closer to the doorway, stopping before they can see me.

"Shouldn't your kid be in school, Mrs. Shepard?" I hear the cop say. "I think he was just released from reform school?"

"He was in school. His brother took him this mornin'."

"He should still be there."

"Did he do somethin', officer?" Ma sounds a bit pissed off. "You comin' to my home, I want to know if he did somethin'."

"Just make sure he goes to school, Mrs. Shepard, and hope he won't get in trouble again."

Fuck this. I go back to the sink and open the tap again, letting the water drown the rest of what they're saying.

* * *

_So sorry for the long wait! I had a little struggles with this chapter, but hopefully it came out okay :)  
_


	24. Why We Cry

**Good Until it Hurts**

**24\. Why We Cry  
**

_I'm back in juvie. I'm standing in a small room with no windows and no door, and I know I won't get out this time. I can't even move. I try to lift my feet, but they are stuck to the floor._

_I look around and Mr. Shaffer sits behind a big desk. It don't look like his office, and he says I have to go to class, or I'll be in trouble. I try to tell him I can't go to class if I can't even move, and then the desk is gone and he is Bennett, placing a hand against my stomach and pushing me against the wall. He tells me to be good and then - _

xXx

I wake up with a jolt, and for a second I don't remember where I am. For a second I'm back there, in a room with him, and I think my heart is going to explode when I frantically let my eyes dart around in the dark, slowly realizing that I'm not locked in, that I'm lying in my own bed. Only I realize something else, too.

_Shit_. I push myself up to sit, the nausea welling up as I untangle my legs from the cover, hoping that I'm feeling it wrong, but it's too fucking obvious that I ain't. I press a shaky arm against my stomach and lean forward, closing my eyes hard. It was a dream. A fucking _nightmare_, and my body reacts this way? It's so fucked up, it's _sick_, and I feel my lip starting to wobble, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_, no way I'm going to bawl in here, with Tim sleeping across the room. I ain't going to bawl at all, so I bite my teeth down until I taste blood, standing up on shaky legs.

I have to get out of here. Tim snores but I know he's a light sleeper, and I can't have him waking up and asking me what I'm doing. Maybe he will even notice things and mock me about it, and even if he don't, I don't want to be here if he wakes up.

I go downstairs, stop in the living room and try to get my breathing back to normal. It's real dark and I don't know what time it is, but it wouldn't matter if I switched on the light, 'cause the clock on the wall stopped a long time ago and no one has bothered to fix it. But I don't need to know the time, I just need to, I don't know, forget it or whatever, get into my head that a dream ain't real, it shouldn't fucking _matter_.

Only I guess it does, 'cause I still think about it. It felt real, and I have no one to talk to, no one who can say it's okay for me to be freaked out, 'cause even if I have Scott's phone number he won't be home for a long time, and I have no one else to call. No one that would understand.

I make my way into the kitchen, stopping by counter and stare at Pa's cupboard under the sink. I know we can't touch his booze, the one time I did it and he found out I couldn't look through my eye for days. But maybe he's too drunk tomorrow to even notice if I take something, and shit, do I even care if he beat the crap out of me tomorrow? I rather go with a black eye than these fucking thoughts.

I put my hand on the counter to steady myself and take a breath. It's really chilly and I only have my pyjama pants on, I wish I had dressed before going downstairs. But if I go up again maybe Tim will wake up, and I can't go outside and I know I shouldn't do it, but I do it anyway, lean down and open the cupboard to grab a bottle, not caring which. As long as it's strong, I'll drink whatever.

I take it with me to the bathroom, lean myself against the sink for a moment. It presses against my hips, and the problem is gone now, I didn't have to do anything about it. Only it don't matter, it happened, everything happened and I don't know if I can take it anymore. I raise my gaze and almost jump in surprise when I see myself in the mirror, 'cause it ain't a tough guy staring back at me, just a boy looking too fucking scared. It don't look like me.

_Maybe this is what a fag look like? You try to deny it but you did this stuff with Scott, and you _wanted_ it, and now you dreamed of Bennett and you woke up liking it, didn't you? That's why he did it in the first place, he saw it all along, you're just too stupid to realize it, you ain't normal, you fucking asked for it!_

I shut my eyes, but it's my own voice. I can't make my own voice to shut up. But maybe it's right. I think it is, with what I did with Scott and all that, I shouldn't have done it. He told me it's okay, what he and I did. He didn't have a problem with it, he said some people just are like us and it's nothing wrong with it as long as you want it and nobody forces you. That we can ignore people thinking differently.

But he lied, 'cause people, that's Tim and his gang and my friends. Everyone. So it ain't okay. How can it be okay? It won't be, ever.

I twist the cap. Maybe I'll still think about it, but being drunk is easier than being sober, and what else can I do? I could go and find a heater and blow my fucking head off, then I would stop thinking of shit all the time. But I ain't sure I want to die. I did some in juvie while it happened, but I don't think I want it now. I just want to be like I was before.

I take a small sip from the bottle, and the wound on my lip stings 'cause of the booze. It burns down my throat and warm me up a little, and I take one more, and one more. But I know I can't. I have to go to school in the morning, or I'll be in serious trouble. Maybe they will send me back to juvie, I don't know. It sounded like it, when the fuzz talked to Ma yesterday, 'cause they said she can't let me run around town and cause trouble anymore, that they can arrest me again if I do.

I lower my hand and pour out the booze in the sink, watching it go down the drain. Pa will fucking kill me, but I don't care. I'm just bawling anyway, and I put the empty bottle on the sink and just stand there, letting it happen.

xXx

He tries to punch me in my stomach, but I block it with my arm, taking a step to the side. He moves backwards, wiping his nose, and he ain't grinning anymore. Stupid fucker. I quickly step forward, giving him two quick punches right on his eye, and he curses loudly, not even trying to defend himself this time, only puts his hands up to cover his face.

I feel alive tonight. Really. The guys are cheering and yelling and cursing, and the adrenaline goes so high I could beat anyone, and when Davy drags me away from Bruce I don't even look if he's okay, I just flex my hands and stare at my knuckles, liking the blood and bruises on them.

I take the cigarette Davy gives me, looking at the two other fighters stepping into the the circle of guys standing watching. Only it's not so fun anymore when it's not me in there, and it don't take long until I start feeling low instead, like I go down from my high with every breath. I don't feel so great around other people anymore, not when I don't fight with them.

"C'mon," I say to Davy, and he don't even ask why we're leaving. I haven't told him anything about juvie that ain't lies, but sometimes I wonder if he notices something different with me, if I act strange or whatever. I really try not to, but sometimes I can't help it.

It's a school night, but it's still too early to go home. I kick at a stone, watching it roll away over the path. Ahead of us is the fountain and the monkey bars, and I see a couple of guys over there. First I'm thinking of turning around, 'cause I don't feel like talking to nobody, I'm even thinking of saying to Davy that I have to split somewhere, just so I can be alone. Only then I see that it's Ponyboy and Johnny.

Davy says something not so nice about them, but as we get closer he shuts up. I'm glad, 'cause I think Pony reminds me of Scott. It ain't that they look the same 'cause that would be far from the truth, but I know they both like books and read and stuff. I guess they could be friends if they met, and then I wonder if Pony's a fag, too, but I don't think so. I think it's only me in the whole Tulsa. If I am.

"What's up?" I say as we get to them, but Pony avoids my gaze and just stares at the ground. He leans awkwardly against the monkey bars, his eyes a bit red and puffy like he has smoked too much. Or maybe bawled.

Johnny looks uncomfortable, too, and Davy don't say anything, just picks up his pack of smokes. I push my hands down into my own pockets, trying not to wince as I scrape my sore knuckles against the fabric. Pony takes a shuddering breath and bites his lip, and shit, he's really crying.

"Someone stole your red fire truck again?" Davy says a bit mockingly, and I know he means the time when we were kids, and Davy did just that and Pony's brother beat him up for it.

"No," Pony mumbles, still not looking up, and I get this weird feeling. I know what I've bawled a lot about, but shit, this can't be the same.

"Leave him alone," Johnny says suddenly.

"What, I was just askin'," Davy protests. "What happened, then?"

"You wanna go home, Pony?" Johnny ignores Davy, taking a step closer to Pony, but he just shakes his head, saying something like that he don't want to be there, then quickly wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

"I guess he got an A minus on some paper," Davy says to me, earning a glare from Johnny.

"Shut up," he snaps, and I glare a bit at Davy, too, 'cause he don't have to act like that.

"I'm okay," Pony says, even if he's obviously not, and it don't sound like he believes it, either. "I need a cigarette."

Mine's out, but to my surprise Davy hands him his own pack, and Pony takes it, mumbling a thanks. We stand there silent and smoke for a while, and now and then Pony wipes his eyes again. It must be something real bad that happened, if he's bawling like that, and I start to feel worse and worse, being reminded of juvie and me and Scott. Maybe I should say something but I don't know what.

Pony flips away the butt of his cigarette, then suddenly pushes himself away from the monkey bars. "I should go," he mumbles to the ground. "Before they wonder where I am."

"Shit, your ma never leaves you alone," I say, 'cause I think of all the times he has said he has a curfew, or that his ma wants him home or whatever. I wouldn't stand it, not being able to be out for as long as I want to. And I wouldn't want to go home like that, bawling in front of my family, either.

But Pony goes completely still when I say it, and Johnny looks at me like he hates me.

"I mean my brothers," Pony says quietly. "My parents died yesterday."

* * *

_So sorry about the long wait, I hope you're still around because I promise to finish this story, even if I can't update as fast as I would want to. Thank you so much for reading and please leave a review and tell me what you think! :)  
_


	25. Red and Glowing

**Good Until it Hurts**

**25\. Red and Glowing  
**

"You got some money?" I ask Tim as he stands leaning over the open hood of his car. It broke down this morning and he seems to be a lot bothered by it, so maybe it ain't the best time to ask.

He glances up at me, frowning. "Why?"

I shrug. "Just need some."

He sighs and rises, wiping his hands on an old rag as he turns around. "What for?" he says.

"I just need to buy some shit."

He fishes up his wallet from his back pocket, but he don't open it, instead watching me closer.

"C'mon, Tim, I just need a few bucks!" I almost jump in the spot, jittery 'cause of the need of a fucking cigarette. I wasn't even this jittery in juvie when I was out, but it's different now. I smoke so much these days I'm sure I'll die of fucking lung cancer before I'm twenty-five.

"I give you some if you do something for me first."

"Yeah, whatever."

He points at me. "Wait here." He walks around me and up the path to our porch, disappearing into the house. It don't take long until he comes out again, handing me a small packet.

"Take this to Allen, yeah?" He turns back to the car, not saying anything about what it is he wants me to deliver. I stare at the packet. It's real light, almost weighing nothing, not bigger than a few inches wide and flat. Looks like paper that's got tape wrapped around it, nothing special, but I suddenly feel real nervous about what I think is in it. I mean, he told me to bring it to _Allen_.

"It ain't drugs, right?" I can't really hide how my voice is shaking, and I hate that.

Tim looks up at me and smirks. "Shit, don't be so fuckin' curious. And no, it ain't drugs."

"What if the fuzz come?" I look around, thinking that a cop car will turn onto our street at any moment and see me with it, arresting me again, and this time for drug dealing or something. I'll get a fucking year for that!

"You want a few bucks or not? I ain't just givin' you some money, Curly."

"I don't wanna go back to juvie!"

"It's a fuckin' key in it, all right? You really thought I would give you some dope standin' on the street for everyone to see?"

I still fight my doubt, and I can tell Tim is starting to get annoyed with me. He stops working on his car and slams the hood down, reaching out his hand.

"Fine, I'll take it myself."

My fingers curl around it harder. Maybe he's right and it is just a key. And I need the money. And I know if I give it back, I won't ever be able to ask him for anything again. And this means he trusts me, right?

"You sure it ain't drugs, then?"

"For fuck's sake, Curly! Give it."

"No, okay. Okay, I'll take it." I back a few steps away from him. "I can take it." I put it in the pocket of my jacket, but I feel a bit freaked out. Am I really risking going back to juvie for fucking cigarettes again? I guess I must be real stupid, and I still think that as I walk down the street, 'cause what if Tim lied? Can I tell the fuzz I didn't know? Maybe it had been better shoplifting a fucking pack of Kools instead of running Tim's errands, maybe I would be less nervous about that.

Only I've tried, and I've freaked out about that, too, every time, making Davy look at me weirdly. So I've told him some lie that I've changed my mind and don't want no fucking cigarettes, but I know he hasn't believed me, 'cause afterwards I always go around bumming from everyone else.

Allen don't live that far from us, but he ain't a part of Tim's gang 'cause he's doing drugs too much, always high and stuff. Sometimes when I've met him he has offered something for free, but I know you have to be careful with that, 'cause next time he seems to think you owe him anyway. I don't know why Tim do affairs with him, 'cause he don't like him so much. I guess 'cause Allen made this guy Tim was friends with really addicted, and he had to move away, or if he died, I don't know. I know he disappeared from Tulsa. Maybe he's in jail.

I glance around, thinking again of the fuzz. The packet feels heavy now, even if it ain't. My hands feel all clammy, and I push them into my pockets, wishing I wasn't such a mess. Before it wouldn't be a problem, if Tim asked me to do things, I saw it like being a part of his gang. But this ain't worth going back to juvie for, so I keep regretting agreeing to do it.

Allen's house is real run down, and I know he lives with his ma only. She's like, forty, but looks like sixty, and I hope she ain't home 'cause she's a real bitch. But the house is dark and silent and maybe Allen ain't there, either. I knock on the door and wait.

I have to knock again, and when there's still no answer I push the door open, stepping inside. It's worse than at home, with stuff and dirty dishes everywhere and furniture that are broken or tipped over. Once at a party, someone set the couch on fire, and it's still all black in the middle.

The cigarette smoke lies heavy in the house, and I find Allen in his room, sprawled out onto his bed. He seems to be asleep, so I grab his foot and shake it a little.

"Hey, Allen?" I stage-whisper.

His eyes open to narrow slits, and he grins when he finally manages to focus them on me. "Curly, my man. What ya doin' here?"

I don't like the way he's looking at me. I know he's high, and he ain't dangerous or nothing, I could easily take him in a fight. Only I start to feel weird in here, I don't know why. Maybe I feel a little trapped, I don't like small places anymore and his room is like a closet.

"Got somethin' for you," I mumble. "From Tim."

He sits up slowly, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah?"

I take the packet from my pocket and hand it to him, feeling somewhat better when I don't have it anymore. Only I know the fuzz has been in here more times that I can count, and if they come now, I'll get busted for sure. I nervously glance out through the window, but I only see the neighbor's house behind all the dirt on the glass.

I watch as Allen opens the packet, and it turns out Tim didn't lie, only I can see it's a slip of paper too, that Allen reads and then grimaces. I hear him curse under his breath, and I guess I get a little curious, but I don't ask anything. Allen puts everything under his pillow, then turns to me.

"Want somethin' to make you feel good? Got some new stuff, you should check it out..."

I shake my head, and he looks disappointed.

"C'mon, let's celebrate a little. You were in juvie, right? I heard about that. I know what it's like in there."

I suddenly feel ice cold, 'cause I'm thinking that he _knows_, but he can't know! Not that! But maybe he just means everything else, the locked doors and fights and not being able to piss in private and all the other stupid guards. Not the ones like Bennett.

"Got some real nice stuff," Allen continues, and his eyes are all weird when he looks at me again. "Just a coupa' dollars worth. Yeah?"

"I don't have that."

"No worries, man, no worries. I'll write it up. We're good. I know you're good."

He gets up on his feet, but then he stumbles and fall into me, and I don't know, I just lose it. I guess 'cause it's a small room and I was nervous before, and maybe 'cause I really hate it when people touch me and I ain't prepared for it. I push him away, hard, and he falls against the window, cracking the glass with his elbow.

"What the fuck?" he mumbles, but I don't stay to see if he's okay or nothing, I just turn around and run.

xXx

I don't go back to Tim. I know he promised me money but I can't see him right now, he would be able to tell something's not right. I don't know why I'm such a freak. I hate that my head makes all this shit up, always thinking something bad is going to happen, and I'm scared I'm always gonna be like this. I don't want that. I want to be able to hang out with people and not think they're gonna do something to me. I never thought that before, but I guess I didn't know what stuff could happen. I didn't know people like Bennett existed, I thought it only happened to girls. But now when I know, I hate that I don't know _who _is like that, it could be _anyone_.

It could be that man over there, walking his dog. It could be the one driving by in his car. But I can't think like that or I'll go crazy, and I need a fucking cigarette so badly, or something stronger, and I'm almost thinking of going back to Allen and take up his offer, letting him give me something so I can forget. So I can be normal.

I lean forward on the bench I'm sitting on, hiding my head in my arms. Shit. I know I ain't never gonna be normal again.

"Hey Curly, you okay?"

I jump high by the voice, but when I look up, I see that it's only Pony. I haven't really talked to him since he told me about his parents a month ago, I haven't seen him that much.

"Yeah, fine," I say, but I have to look away, and I look down at my hands, and shit, I know he's smart, he'll figure I'm lying.

He sits down next to me. "I kinda ran away from home," he says.

I look at him, and he smiles sheepishly. "I know it's only a few blocks. And I'm goin' home again soon, so I didn't run away for real. I just didn't told I was leaving. I'm supposed to do homework."

"I thought you don't have curfews anymore," I say, but then I think maybe that was a bad thing to say, 'cause his ma is fucking _dead_, and that's why. But Pony shakes his head.

"You think that? Shit, Darry's even worse than... than Mom." He bites his lip and looks away, but I could see that his eyes got a little wet. Only when he looks back, they ain't anymore, instead he looks angry. "It's always Pony do this and Pony do that and Pony don't get late or the Social Services will come an' get you. I haven't even seen him _cry_. I talked to Soda and he said it's Darry's way of coping, but I think he should cry, you know? He didn't even cry on their funeral!"

I don't know what to say. Honestly, I don't think I would cry if it was my parents. Maybe if it was Tim. But I can't talk, 'cause it ain't like I never bawl.

"Sorry," Pony says lowly. "I didn't mean to say that. He's been great. He agreed to take custody of me and Soda, so at least we don't have to move to a boys home."

Shit, I didn't think of that before. I guess parents are good for one reason, then. I ain't sure Tim would agree to take care of me and Angie if something happened to Ma and Pa.

I ask him for a cigarette, and he hands me a pack. We sit smoking for a while, and Pony sniffs a little now and then, but it don't seems like he's crying, so maybe it's the cold air. I think of going to a boys home, how that would be like. Maybe it's like juvie. I don't know if they have guards and stuff. My heart starts to beat faster, it always do when I think too much, and my hand shakes a little, and I stare at the ember at the end of the cigarette. It's red and glowing, kind of like how I feel inside.

I hate that I think about it again. I hate how it hurts. I hate that it's Pony sitting here, 'cause had it been Scott, I could have talked to him. But I can't talk to nobody and I can't even cry like Pony. If he's crying, all he has to do is to tell about his parents, and then people would get it 'cause it ain't strange that you cry when someone dies. But I always have to hide when I'm bawling.

The ember gets closer and closer to my fingers and I let it. I don't knock off the ash or nothing, and when it comes so close it burns my skin I just bite my teeth down hard and fight the urge to throw it away.

"Shit, what you doin'?" Pony exclaims, and I drop the butt so it falls onto my knees. I quickly wipe it away, already missing the pain even if my skin still stings a bit. But it's easier, when it's on the outside.

"Wanna play chicken?" I suddenly hear myself say. I don't know why, I guess I just need a reason. Something to explain it. Maybe I don't want to be hurt alone, and he's hurt too, ain't he?

"What?" Pony says. "We don't have cars."

"I don't mean chicken like that." I turn on the bench to face him. "Just hold out your finger. I'll press my cigarette against yours and you do it against mine and who jerks it away first is the chicken."

"I don't know."

"You don't dare?" I make my voice sounding like I'm mocking him. "You afraid it will hurt or what?"

"No, it just seems..." He trails off. "I mean, why?"

"Shit, forget if it you don't dare." I don't know why it suddenly hurts even more inside. Why I feel upset. I just need something, something to get everything out of my head and nothing has worked so far, _nothing_.

"I dare," Pony says, sounding really unsure. "Okay. I can try."

I grin at him, and we light up our cigarettes and then stand up and turn toward each other. Pony sticks out his finger, looking determined but a little scared, and maybe I look the same, but this is a pain I can control. If I just learn to control everything, maybe it will be okay in the end.

"One, two, go," I say and then I press the tip of my cigarette against his skin, and _fuck fuck fuck_ it hurts when he do the same. But I've lived through much more pain, and it crawls all over my skin when Bennett returns. I close my eyes hard, trying to concentrate on how my finger is burning up, instead of _that_, and I think it helps a little. I look up again and Pony's face is red and he looks sweaty and he bites his lip. I wait for him to give up but he don't, and I can't give up, either. I won't give up.

It starts to smell and Pony lets out a little sound, but his eyes meet mine and he's just as determined as I am, to not jerk away first. I don't know if he feels it, too, that everything else seems to go away for a second, this is it right now, just this. Just this pain.

Only then someone grips the back of my neck and Pony's too, cracking our heads together before pulling us apart.

"What the hell are you two doin'?"

* * *

_Fastest update, longest chapter. I had a really good day writing this :) I hope you enjoyed reading, and please review and let me know what you think!  
_


	26. On Fire

**Good Until it Hurts**

**26\. On Fire**

"That's so gross!" Angie exclaims.

At first I think she means my sandwich. I have spread a lot of butter on it, and place everything I can find on top of it - ham, cheese, baloney, mustard, ketchup, pickles - 'cause it almost never happens that our fridge is this filled with food. And it's almost noon, and I'm hungry.

I grab the orange juice and try to find a clean glass. When I don't, I take the least dirty one one the counter and rinse it under hot water for a while, before pouring the drink in it. I grab the glass and the sandwich, turning around.

"Move," I say to Angie, 'cause she's standing in my way. I try to take a step forward, but she don't back away.

"Did you do that?"

"Uh, yeah." Is she stupid or something? She just watched me doing it.

"Not the sandwich, that!" She points at my hand holding the glass, and I follow her with my gaze, feel how the room suddenly tilts a bit and my face growing hot when I realize what she's talking about.

"No," I mumble fast. "Move!"

I brush past her, force her to take a step back as I walk into the living room and sit down on the couch. I throw the sloppy sandwich on the table, licking mustard off my finger as I do my best to ignore her. She don't move from the kitchen doorway, just stands looking at me, and I stare at the TV, pretending to be really into the show even if it's a boring one. Ma would probably like it.

"Why would you do that? It looks totally gross, Curly. Did you play that stupid game again?"

"Shut up." I lift the sandwich and take a bite. I guess she means the thing with Pony a couple of weeks ago. She was in the living room when Tim and I came home, and he kept nagging at me, saying he would kill me if he caught me doing some stupid shit like that again. I don't know if it was me he worried about, or if he thought he would have to take me to the hospital, 'cause he kept saying he didn't want to pay for it if it got infected.

"I'm gonna tell Tim," Angie says, and I swear, if she wasn't my twelve year old sister I would hit her so hard right now. I drop the sandwich, glaring at her, trying not to show how my stomach churns.

"You fuckin' won't! If you do that I'm gonna give your fuckin' diary to _Clay_!"

"You read my diary?" Her face grows red and she knots her hands. "An' his name's _Clyde_, you moron!"

"I bet he wanna know some stuff about you."

"Go to hell, Curly! Like I care about your hand!" She turns around and stomps up the stairs, and some seconds later I hear her slamming her door shut. I'm glad Pa ain't home, 'cause he would probably give me shit about it.

I try to go back to eating my food, but it really tastes nothing. I glance at my hand and flex my knuckles, making the burns sting, and suddenly my eyes do, too.

I know it's stupid. I don't even really know why I do it, it just happens. I chew on the last bite, but it grows in my mouth, and I end up spitting it out in the glass. I drag my feet up on the seat, wrap my arms around my legs and try to breathe with my forehead against my knees. I need a fucking cigarette so bad it hurts. But I'm out, I'm always out, and I hate this house and I hate my sister and I hate what happened. I hate everything.

I force myself to get up, to go looking for my jacket, and I find it draped over a kitchen chair. I put it on, stick my feet into my sneakers by the door and leave. I feel like such a looser. I need to fix this, I know. I need to fix _me_. Only I don't know how to do it.

I push my hands down into my pockets, my left one hurting by being scratched against the fabric, reminding me again that I'm going crazy. My chest feels all stuffed up, like I can't breathe normally, and I have to force the air in and out, in and out, but I just remember things too clearly, hands and breaths and words and pain -

I have to stop and throw up my breakfast on the curb. I grab the fence next to me to keep myself up when my head is spinning, wiping my mouth with my jacket sleeve when I'm done. Shit. I feel hot and cold, and then I jump high when a big, black dog suddenly runs from the house and up to the other side of the fence, right where I stand, barking loudly and showing its teeth. I curse and let go, backing away and stare at it. It keeps barking until I turn around and go.

xXx

"Hey, Curly, how's it goin'?"

I glance up, moving my hand along the shelf with the candy bars lined up, my _good _hand, the other one tucked away into my pocket. Soda looks at it, but not like Angie, 'cause I know he can't see it. What I've done. I guess he thinks I just lifted something, that he almost caught me doing it, but I don't care and he don't say anything.

"M'fine," I mumble, taking a step closer to the counter. I look at him and I get what all the fuss is about, why all the girls like him. And that's fucking bad, ain't it? It should be no one or it should be only Scott, but he ain't here, still locked up in juvie. I won't ever see him again, probably, hopefully, but the thought makes my stomach hurt.

"Yeah?" Soda says, sounding like he don't believe me.

"Hung over," I lie, and he fucking smiles at that, so I have to look away again. I think Bennett destroyed me.

Or maybe Scott did.

Or maybe I was already like this.

"You want somethin'? Oh, hey, hang on a minute, I'll be right back." Soda leaves the counter, and I watch him walk out the door, up to the gas pumps. Two girls in a car, and he must think they look good, the way he acts when he helps them. I can hear them all laughing from where I stand, Soda too.

My heart pounds so hard, hitting my chest and making my ears buzz, 'cause it hits me I'm alone in here. I remove my hand from the pocket, quickly grab a pack of smokes, and tuck it back in. I keep my eyes on the window, on Soda, but he didn't see it, he can't have, with his back turned against me. And if he did, he wouldn't call the fuzz on me, would he? He wouldn't rat, and if he did, I could beat him up. But I feel nauseous again, and I can't stay, I have to go, and I walk up to the door and push it open, just leaving without a word.

The pack feels heavy in my pocket, and I think every car that passes by is a cop car, ready to pick me up and bring me back to juvie. To Bennett. I don't really relax until I'm home, and I run up the porch steps and inside, ignoring Ma sitting on the couch and staring at the TV. I go up to my room and sink down to the floor, next to my bed.

Both my hands are shaking but I fucking did it. I fixed it. Maybe I'm fixed now. I rip the pack open and pick out a stick, lighting it up. I smoke it fast and then stomp the butt out against the floor, watching the ember die against the wood tiles.

But I ain't fixed. It's still in my head. I still feel it.

I take out another stick, and this one I smoke slowly, watching it burn between my fingers, and I twist it around before my eyes, thinking, thinking, _thinking_. I place my left hand against my knee and watch it, too. It really looks gross, red and black circles dotting my skin, and blisters.

I place the tip of the cigarette against the spot right under my little finger and press. I bite my teeth down hard, my jaw hurting, my hand hurting _bad_, on fire, but it ain't the worst pain. The worst pain is inside.

"_Fuck_," I wheeze, and I know I have to let go soon, 'cause it smells and sweat trickles down my forehead, and I can't sit still and I shake and I feel vomit in my mouth and I let go. I drop the cigarette and cradle my wrist with my right hand, muttering curses under my breath, but I don't bawl.

Not much.

* * *

_I'm really sorry it took me this long to update. My life has been crazy busy lately, and probably will for a while, but I hope I will be able to update faster next time. _

_And hopefully this story still have readers :)  
_


	27. Falling

**Good Until it Hurts**

**27\. Falling  
**

The music is loud, the air smoky, and I have no idea of where we are. I know we started at Buck's, partying and drinking since it's Davy's birthday, him turning fifteen. Buck said it was okay to hang out in his house, but I guess we messed around a bit, that something broke or, I don't know, but he kicked us out for some stupid reason. At least Davy says so, I don't remember. And now I'm in some big house, nice looking, not Socy or anything but a lot better than mine. The TV is on, and it's in color, and the couch ain't ripped or burned. At least it wasn't before I got here and dropped my cigarette in it, not bothering to try to pick it up. Who cares anyway, it ain't like I started a fire. But maybe I should have.

I stand by the wall, a beer in my hand, working fast on getting more wasted. I felt good before, I really did. I almost forgot about stuff, too. But now the shit in my head starts to spin around again, 'cause Davy and the scrawny guy next to him talk about the girls and their short skirts, how they wanna get under them. 'Cause I try to look too, at legs and boobs and their hair and all, but I feel nothing. I mean, there are cute ones, I can see that, and maybe I could kiss one of them if she wanted to, and it would feel good, I bet. Only when I see some guys, it ain't like I wanna do something, no way, but... maybe I could have. And it's like my head keeps going back to juvie, to what happened, and I don't know if I could ever go all the way. Like with, anyone. Even a girl. Or I mean, it should be a girl, right? But I don't know if I could be with a girl either, even if she was cute, 'cause I only think of bad things when thinking of it, and the memories make me wanna puke. And I think I can't stay here any longer.

I stagger closer to Davy, talking in his ear so he will hear me over the music. "I'm gonna split, okay?"

He stops talking, turning his head toward me. "What?"

I put my hand against the wall, to stop me from swaying too much. "I don't feel great," I say, and that ain't a lie. "I'm gonna go home."

"You wanna leave?" He looks disappointed, shifting his feet. "Shit, I don't know..." He keeps throwing glances at the blonde a few feet away, and my stomach lurches 'cause I wish I could be like him. Like girls and wanna party. That things could stay good, instead of turning to shit.

"Yeah, whatever, I'm gonna split anyway."

I don't wait for him to answer, just walk away, and not until I get outside and down a street I realize I feel cold 'cause I forgot my jacket. Shit, but I can't go back. I'm like, almost losing it, so I can't do that. Only I realize I forgot my cigarettes too, when I search in my pockets for the pack, and I could really need one. For smoking, mostly. I rub my left hand, and the stinging calms me down a bit, but not as much as the real pain would do. But I don't go back anyway.

I turn a street but I don't recognize anything, I don't know if I'm going in the right direction. This neighborhood is too nice, no people outside, all the houses lying quiet and dark even if it's Saturday night, so I can't ask anyone. But I guess I don't need that, 'cause I don't really wanna go home, either.

I don't know what I wanna do. I wanna go back to the party and be normal. But when thinking about it, what I would do if I was normal, my head starts to spin again and I hear panting in my ear, his voice too clearly, the pain -

Fuck this shit! I dig my nails hard into my arm, dig them so hard into my skin I feel blood. I close my eyes and just try to breath, thinking it's 'cause I'm drunk, but I know that's a lie 'cause I feel this bad about it when I'm sober, too.

I have to sit down on the curb for a bit, curling my arms around my stomach. Davy's probably getting it tonight, and he's gonna tell all about it tomorrow, and I know he will go on and on about how great it was and how good it felt, brag about the girl. And then he'll expect me to do it soon, too. I know Tim was only fourteen, he told me once, when he told me about rubbers and stuff. He told me to make sure to never knock up a girl, especially if I don't want to get married. Like I would do any of that, now.

I press the heel of my hand into my forehead. If he could see me now, if he knew... but he can never know. I have to make sure of that.

My feet are really aching when I finally get home. My teeth clatter, and I'm real hungry and tired, and I drag myself up the porch, stop with my hand at the door knob when I hear Pa screaming in there. It's weird, 'cause it's so late none of my parents should be up. First I think of waiting outside until they stop fighting, I don't want to see nobody, don't want them to see me, but I'm fucking cold, I only have a long sleeved t-shirt and it's only March. So then I open the door and walk in anyway.

Ma sits in the couch, crying, only wearing her night gown. Pa yells at her, his face red, talking about some money he's gonna lose. I don't know why he's screaming like that, 'cause it ain't her fault he always drinks and gambles away all his money.

"An' where the hell have you been?" he suddenly growls.

I realize he has turned to me, only I don't get why he bother, 'cause he has never cared before.

"Out," I mutter, trying to stay out of reach. Maybe I wouldn't mind a beating, 'cause that would probably get me to think of other stuff, but I know Ma don't like to see it. I look at her and she looks at me, and I know she wants me to keep it down. I shouldn't care about what she wants, but I guess I do a little bit, 'cause her cheek is red so he probably already hit her. If he beats me up, she's gonna have it worse after. It's always like that.

"Out, where?" Pa wants to know.

"Just walkin'."

"You in trouble? You better not be!" He turns to Ma again. "You have no control over your damn kids? You think I'm made of money?"

He has forgotten about me again, and I take the opportunity to slink up the stairs. I almost step on Angie, sitting at the top of them.

"Watch it," she whispers angrily, pushing at my leg.

"It ain't my fault you're in the way!"

"Keep it down!" she hisses.

I sit down beside her, trying to stop shaking. I don't want her to think I'm scared or anything, 'cause I ain't, I'm just real cold. I drag at my sleeves, noticing some red close to my wrist, but I think it's too dark for Angie to see. But I hide it away.

"What's the screamin' about anyway?" I mutter.

"He's just mad Tim's at the station."

"What?" I snap my head around, to stare at her. But she just shrugs.

"I don't know about it. Just that they got a phone call and Pa started to scream 'cause they have to pay to get him out."

"He's _arrested_?" My heart starts to go thump, thump, thump in my chest. If it was bad before, everything comes crashing down now. If Tim goes to juvie, I don't know what I'll do. It feels like he will find out what happened to me, just by being there. Like it's in the walls. Like people will talk. In my head, everyone there knows about it. Maybe Scott didn't shut up after I left. Tim will find out, and I'm gonna -

I'm almost into full panic when it hits me, he's eighteen. He turned eighteen that day. He won't go to juvie.

But it don't make me relieved. Tim has always been here, and what if he gets sent away? I don't know if I can handle that.

I force myself to rise, to act normal. "I'm goin' to bed," I mutter to Angie.

And then I flee.

xXx

I wake up late the next day, my head pounding and my mouth awfully dry. I drag myself out of bed, glancing at Tim's across the room, but he ain't in it. I don't know if Pa has gone to pick him up, yet, or if he was home and then left again. But I should have heard him, then.

I shuffle to the bathroom, feeling totally dazed. I still feel it when I get dressed, and when I go downstairs. Everything is quiet, and I think nobody is home. But I sneak open the door to my parents bedroom, and Ma is in bed, but she seems to be asleep. I should probably wait for Pa to come home with Tim and ask what all is about, what he did, if he has to go to court and stuff, but I feel too scared to know.

I search for my jacket and then remember I forgot it yesterday. But I go outside anyway, thinking I don't care if I freeze. I didn't freeze to death yesterday so I probably won't today, either. It's a bit cold, but not that much, and I walk around mostly aimlessly, at least after lifting a pack of cigarettes. I can do that without getting nervous now, so I guess that's good. Only the other things seem to not get better, and my thoughts keep drifting back to Scott, how he always made me feel both better and worse. Why do I even think about him? But maybe it's 'cause it feels I could've told him about Tim if he was here. He was good to talk to.

If I count the months, he will be out in the end of May. It ain't that long. Only I don't know where he lives more than Oklahoma City, and I can't really go there and look for him. But he got my phone number.

I wonder if he kept it. I wonder if I want him to have kept it. Maybe it's better if he threw it away.

I smoke a lot and I feel nauseous, but I don't think it's 'cause of Scott. My stomach growls, and I realize I'm hungry, really, really hungry. Without money I know I have to go home and eat, if I don't lift a candy bar, and that feels like the better option. So I turn around and start walking in the other direction. Only I don't get far until I run into Pony and Johnny, standing by a telephone pole, staring up at it and talking lowly to each other. I crane my neck, to check what they're looking at, seeing a pair of shoes dangling high up there.

"It's Johnny's," Pony says to me, and Johnny looks away, like he's embarrassed about it.

"Why did you throw them up there?" I ask stupidly.

"I didn't." He says it very quiet, and then I notice he only have socks on his feet.

"We have to get 'em down," Pony says. He walks closer to the pole, like he's about to start climbing, but Johnny quickly grabs his arm.

"Pony, don't!"

"But your dad," Pony protests, but Johnny just shakes his head again.

"Who did it anyway?" I wonder, and Johnny goes red, only mumbling something I can't hear.

I look up again. It's kind of high, but I used to climb trees a lot before. And the shoes ain't that far from the pole either, if I just can get to the top, I'll reach them.

I know if Tim was here he would knock me in the head, like he did when he discovered me and Pony playing chicken, if he knew I was just thinking about climbing up there. But he ain't here, and maybe he won't be for a long time, if things go bad. I know it's stupid of me, 'cause it ain't my problem, but I guess I like that it's a bit dangerous, like, if I climb up and fall, will I die? Maybe I'll crack my head, get all the stupid shit out of it.

Maybe I just wanna distract myself. I walk up to the pole, and Johnny don't say anything this time. Maybe he don't care if I fall, maybe he only cares about Pony.

I don't know, maybe I don't care either.

Only when it happens twenty seconds later, I kind of regret it.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading! All I want for Christmas is reviews... :)  
_


	28. Broken

**Good Until it Hurts**

**28\. Broken**

I'm about ten feet up when my sneaker slips.

I didn't expect it to happen. Even if I thought about it before, I really didn't think I would fall. But all I have the time to think is _Shit! _when I lose my grip around the telephone pole, desperately trying to find my footing again - but I'm already on my way down, and I crash to the ground with my right arm under me, hear more than feel how it snaps while the impact knocks all the wind out of me.

xXx

"_Oh, shit!_"

"_Shit, Curly, you okay_?"

"_Maybe we shouldn't_-"

The voices come from miles away. I sit up slowly, blinking feebly, like I just woke up. My whole body feels numb, and I look down at my arm hanging strangely by my side, pointing in the wrong direction, but it's weird 'cause it don't hurt.

Shouldn't it hurt?

Pony is on his knees in front of me, his face pale, his mouth moving like he's talking.

"_...okay_?"

I just stare at him.

"Curly!" he barks, shaking me a little.

"_Fuck_," I hiss, 'cause pain suddenly shoots through my arm. I make a sharp inhale, hold my breath for a second while I wait for it to pass. Only it don't, instead it starts to pulsate, worse and worse, running from my elbow up to my shoulder and down to my fingers. I curse again, carefully cradle my arm with my hand, to steady it.

Pony looks a bit guilty, and he hastily moves his hand away from my shoulder, turning his head to talk to Johnny standing behind him.

"Go get Tim," he says rapidly. "We have to-"

"Not Tim," I manage, gritting my teeth. I can't really think clearly when my arm is hurting like this, but I think Tim ain't home. If he ain't, there's no point going there, and I don't want them to run into my pa or anything. I don't want him to come here.

"But you need to go to the hospital," Pony protests, his eyes darting between me and Johnny.

"No fuckin' way!"

"I think your arm's broken."

"You _think_?" I mimic sarcastically.

Johnny says something I can't hear, and Pony frowns, then nods, turning back to me. "I'm gonna go get my brother, then. Okay? He can bring the truck."

"Yeah, whatever." Why can't he just shut up and stop talking to me? I feel hot all sudden, sweaty even if I don't wear a jacket, and I blink hard, and then again, fighting the bile rising up my throat. Shit, but this was stupid.

Pony gets up on his feet, says something to Johnny again, and then he takes off running. I glare at Johnny, and he backs away and looks real nervous. I hope he won't start to talk to me or anything, 'cause I'm kind of busy with hurting like hell. Besides, this was all his fault, wasn't it? Letting some fucking bully kids take his shoes and throw them up a telephone pole, if he wasn't such a dip stick, I hadn't fallen down and broken my arm.

Okay, so maybe it was little my own fault for even caring about it, but I think it was mostly his anyway.

It feels like forever before an old truck parks at the curb in front of me, Pony and his brother Sodapop piling out of it.

"He's over there," Pony says unnecessarily, and Soda walks up to me, crouching down.

"Can you stand up?" he asks me, and I nod and try, only to sit back down again when I move my arm.

"_Ow_, _fuuuck_," I let out, squeezing my eyes shut in a grimace. I think it wouldn't hurt this much if someone had cut it off, for real!

"Should we call an ambulance instead?" Pony nervously asks his brother, but I snap at him no, and Soda leans down again to get a hold of my left elbow, helping me to get up on my feet. I have to bite my teeth down hard to not start to groan, 'cause _shit_, it hurts, and I sway a bit once I get up. Soda asks if I hit my head, too, but I don't think I did, so I say 'no' again.

He has to help me get into the truck,and he closes the door after me, staying outside for a while to talk to Pony, who nods and shakes his head and looks at me, but I just lean my head back and close my eyes, until Soda climbs back into the driver seat.

"Hospital?" he asks me. "Or do you want me to take you home first?"

I don't want neither, but I know someone needs to patch me up for real this time, I don't think a band-aid will do the work. And I really want some drugs for the pain, too.

"Hospital, I guess," I mutter. I shift in the seat, trying to get more comfortable, only it makes another jolt of pain shoot through my arm. Shit, but I wish this was over.

"You have someone to call once we get there?" Soda wonders, turning the key, making the truck jump to life. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you'll need a guardian or some shit there, to get treatment."

I think of Tim again. Is he home, yet? I hope so, but I don't know.

"Um, guess I can try and call my pa," I say slowly. 'Cause there is no chance in hell I'll get Ma to come. Not by herself, it don't matter if I was dying, she wouldn't leave the house without Tim or me or Angie.

"You know where he is?" Soda asks a bit casual, like he don't expect me to know but don't wanna say it.

"Maybe he's home."

He glances at me but don't say anything. I lean my head back again, thinking the only good thing with this pain is the distraction from other things, only when I think that, it ain't really a distraction anymore. Shit, but I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want anyone to fucking touch my arm, don't want anyone I don't know to touch me at all.

But I know I have to, and I can't really say that I don't want it either, so I keep my mouth shut. And then we're there, and Soda follows me inside and up to the nurses desk, talking to the lady standing behind it. She asks why we're here and all, before giving him some papers and a pen, and telling us to sit down and wait.

"Can you fill this in?" Soda asks as we have sat down on some chairs, but I just look at him 'til he grins sheepishly. 'Cause it's my fucking _right _arm.

"Shit, sorry. I'll do it." He puts the paper against his lap and grabs the pen, scanning the first question. "Your real name's Vincent, right?"

"Yeah," I mutter. I hope he won't laugh at me, 'cause his name is fucking _Sodapop_. But he don't, he just scribbles it down and continues to ask me questions, and I tell him what I know the answers to, like my address and if I have allergies and stuff, and the rest he leaves blank.

When he's done I glance at the phones on the wall across the room. But I don't want to move, I have managed to cradle my arm in a way I can handle the pain now, I don't want to move it. And Soda must see it, 'cause he asks, "You want me to call your house?"

I kick with my foot a little. "Maybe."

He takes the papers with him, I guess 'cause of the phone number. I watch him punch it in and then wait, and I wonder who will pick up, if Tim's home by now, and I hope he is. I still don't want Pa to come, he'll be so mad 'cause of the money. I bet it will cost a lot, fixing my arm.

Soda's talking to someone, and then puts the receiver down, coming back.

"Your brother's comin'," he says.

"Tim?"

"You got more than one?"

"No," I scoff. Soda chuckles and sits down again, and then he starts to talk about one time when he tore a ligament at the Rodeo. I don't know why he tells me all that, but maybe he just tries to get me to think of something else. Only when he mentions that his dad made him stop riding after that, he gets a lot more quiet, and I remember his parents dying just a couple of months ago. After that we just sit quiet and don't talk, and I'm kind of glad, 'cause I have all this stuff in my head by now, like, what if they won't be able to fix my arm and have to cut it off? But I don't think they will do that, but I don't know, I'm not a doctor. And then I start to wonder about the doc who will fix me, what if he tries something, but I won't be alone, right? 'Cause Tim's coming. He will be in the room with me, I won't be alone in there with some guy.

And when I think that, I get so totally nauseous, and my heart starts to beat wildly again, and my arm hurts so much that I just want to go home and forget about everything. But I just sit in my chair 'til Tim shows up with Ma. I get real surprised when I see him, 'cause he looks worse than me, real banged up, black eye and cut lip and everything. I sit up straighter when he says thanks to Soda, who greets Ma and wishes me luck before heading out.

Ma sits down next to me, patting my left arm and asking if I'm okay. But I just nod, don't let my eyes leave Tim 'til he has checked the papers Soda gave him and finally looks at me.

"What the hell did you do for stupid shit this time, Curly?" he asks. "Shit, that looks nasty."

"What the hell did you do for stupid shit yesterday?" I shoot back instead of answer. "You goin' to court?"

I hope he don't hear that I'm nervous about that. But he just grins.

"Nah," he says easily. "It was just a fight. Fuckin' Tigers, I bet they set us up. But the fuzz only brought us in to cool down, it was only skin so they can't do nothin' about it."

I don't think he's telling me the whole truth, but I'm in too much pain to argue more than frown. "Angie said Pa had to bail you out."

"She got it wrong, there wasn't any bail. He just had to pick me up." He looks down at my arm again. "You know we don't have insurance?"

He don't have to tell me that. I kick with my foot again, wondering when the hell they will give me some pain killers, 'cause it's real awful just sitting here. And right when I think that, a nurse steps up to us, glancing between me and Tim, like she don't know who she's supposed to come and get.

"Vincent Shepard?" she wonders.

"Him," Tim says, pointing at me with his thumb.

* * *

_Thank you SO much for your support! I hope you want to tell me what you think of this chapter, too :)  
_

_And I hope you all had a great Christmas, and Happy New Year!_


	29. Left Handed

**Good Until it Hurts**

**29\. Left Handed  
**

"Shit," I mumble, cursing lowly for myself as my fingers slip again, the button refusing to hook into the buttonhole of my jeans. They had to cut off my sweater before, 'cause they couldn't take it off with my arm broken and all, and the only thing I have now is Tim's t-shirt. But even if it's long enough to cover my front it don't matter, 'cause my jeans are sliding down if I try to walk with my fly open. And I won't go out of the stall like this.

My fingers slip again when someone suddenly knocks on the door. "Curly, you asleep in there or what?" Tim barks through it.

"No," I scoff.

"You've been in there fifteen minutes already."

"I'm not finished yet!"

"You takin' a dump or somethin'?"

"No." I frown at the door, hoping he will go away and leave me alone. And first I think that he did, 'cause he gets quiet, and I continue to struggle with the button. But then he says, sounding a lot nicer this time,

"You all right?"

I roll my eyes. Fuck no, I ain't all right. I'm still dizzy from all the drugs they gave me before setting the bone in my arm straight, and the cast they put on is warm and heavy, going all the way from my fingers and up over my elbow, and I can't close my fucking jeans 'cause I only have one hand to use. But I don't say that, just keep struggling, the button still slipping, and I realize more and more I won't be able to do this.

"Curly?"

"What!" I snap.

"Come on, get out. It's midnight, I need to take Ma home."

"Yeah, shit, just wait a second, all right!"

I take a step back to sit down on the closed toilet-lid, rubbing my eyes. Shit, why the hell did I have to go and climb that fucking telephone pole? The doc said I have to have the cast for at least six weeks, and I've only had it on for, like, an hour, and I'm already tired of it. And we haven't even left the hospital, yet!

"Curly, for fuck's sake!" Tim bangs on the door again, a lot harder now, and I rise to unlock the door, and he rips it open before I have the time to reach for the knob.

"About fuckin' time. Come on." He turns around to go, but I don't move.

"Uh, Tim?"

"What?"

"I, uh..." I dip my head, 'cause I hate telling him. "I can't, uh, do it with the cast on."

"Do what, take a leak? Aim?"

"No! Shit. I can't close my fly, okay?"

I feel myself go red when he starts laughing at me. "It ain't funny!" I snap.

"Yeah it is," he says, but at least he tries to stop laughing, but he can't stop grinning. He reaches out and grabs the upper part of my jeans, and I don't think before jumping backwards, knocking my back against the wall so hard I almost lose my breath. I stare at Tim wide-eyed, memories rushing over me while I see another face, hear another voice, my head buzzing, heart racing...

"The fuck, Curly?" Tim says startled.

It's Tim. It's _Tim_!

But I feel other hands. Oh fuck. I turn around fast, get down on my knees and have just the time to open the toilet lid before I throw up. I haven't eaten anything the whole day so nothing comes up, but I heave and heave and just want to bawl. It's _Tim_! My brother Tim. He was just going to help me, right? He didn't mean anything by it. Fuck... I hate this, why can't I just forget? What is fucking wrong with me?

I drag my left arm over my eyes and rise slowly when I'm done. Tim grabs a paper towel from over the sink and gives it to me, and I wipe it over my mouth, hoping he don't see how my hand shakes. I feel my jeans sliding down again, and I drop the towel onto the floor to grab them and hold them up. Tim looks at me strangely, but I do my best to avoid his gaze.

"I just got sick," I mumble. "Must be the drugs, yeah?" I glance at him, but he still looks at me weirdly.

"Wanna do somethin' about it or what?"

I force myself to nod, to take a step forward. I hold my breath as he helps me with the fly and button, but I don't look at him, scared of what he thinks are the reason for my reaction, hating how I feel nauseous by his hands. 'Cause I really have to strain myself to not push him away, to tell him to not fucking touch me.

In the car home, my head is spinning with memories and thoughts and stuff, and as soon as we get to our house I head to bed, not bothering with my clothes or anything. Only I have to lie on my back 'cause of the cast, and I guess the meds are starting to go out 'cause I feel my arm starting to pulsate.

It takes a long time before I fall asleep.

xXx

I decide to not go to school. What's the point, I'm going to be held back another year no matter if I go or not. And I won't go with my arm like this, 'cause I can't do anything anyway. I can't write, or get dressed properly, so I keep the t-shirt on and change to a pair of shorts, and when I try to make a sandwich it's fucking impossible to make it lie still when I try to spread butter on it. So I trash it, going for a bowl of cereal instead. But even the things I manage to do take much longer time when only have my left hand to use.

I spend the day watching TV and smoke Tim's cigarettes. At least I can do that. Ma comes out of bed and asks me how I'm doing, and I say fine, even if I'm not, really. She don't ask anything else, just cleans up a bit so I guess it's one of her good days. I'm so fucking bored I think of saying I can help her, but when I think about it I don't know what I can do with the cast on, so I keep quiet and stare at the TV instead, my broken arm pulsating more and more. Then I remember the doc said I should try to keep it propped up high so it won't swell, so I take one of the cushions and lie it beside me, resting my arm on top of it.

Angie comes home first, wanting to take a look at my cast and laughs at me for being stupid. I throw the empty cigarette pack at her, but she just laughs harder and moves away so it hits the wall instead. Then she sits down in the armchair, watching the show with me and chats about school and boring stuff about her friends. She makes sure to tell me all the funny things that happened at school that I missed, but I don't bother to tell her I don't care. 'Cause I really don't, it's just that I'm bored.

At dinner, it gets really embarrassing, 'cause ma has to cut the food for me, and Angie grins again. And I think for the thousand times, I don't know how to do this for six weeks! If I see that kid Johnny again, I swear, I'm gonna fucking kill him. Even if I know it wasn't his fault. I guess it wasn't, so maybe I won't do anything. Besides, if I see him with my arm still broken, I guess it's bad trying to start a fight.

At least Tim don't nag at me about school. I guess he figures he won't be able to make me go, not when I can't use my jeans. And I make sure no one has to help me with the fly again, continuing to wearing my shorts and the t-shirt, 'cause I tried to take it off but it was too hard. Only it takes a week and then even I can feel the smell, 'cause I haven't showered either.

"You're so disgusting!" Angie complains when I sit down beside her. She pinches her nose, leaning away from me. "Tim, tell him!"

Tim looks over at me where he stands by the counter, drinking a cup of coffee. "Is that the same t-shirt I gave you at the hospital?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

"So?" I mutter. "I can have it if I want to."

"You haven't change in a week? Shit, I ain't goin' to sit next to you," Angie says, moving away.

I drum my fingers against my knee, staring down at the table top. What am I supposed to do, then? Ask Tim for help, and react like I did the last time? But maybe it won't be the same with the t-shirt, I mean, I didn't react so much when they cut off my sweater at the hospital, but I was drugged up real good, then.

Tim puts down his cup on the counter, nodding toward the doorway. "Come on," he says.

I get up on my feet and follow him, dragging my feet after me. I'm kind of glad that he don't say anything, just takes me to the bathroom and helps me take off the sling and then drags the t-shirt over my head.

"Wait here."

I sit down on the toilet-lid as I wait, and he comes back with a plastic bag and duct tape, wraps the bag around my cast and tapes it on real good.

"Take a shower, okay?" he says when he's done. "Angel is right, you stink."

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading!  
_


	30. Anger

**Good Until it Hurts**

**30\. Anger  
**

I'm in Mr. Shaffer's office again, but I ain't alone with him this time. I'm glad for that, 'cause I still fucking hate being alone with people, especially when the door is closed and all. Only this ain't much better, 'cause the school counselor is here, too, and some man I don't know who he is, and Tim.

"I was hoping your parents would come, Vincent," Mr. Shaffer says to me, frowning.

"Yeah, they got work, you know," I lie, 'cause Ma is home sleeping and I think Pa might have a job right now, or maybe he's out drinking. Like I care. I tap at my cast with my fingers, shifting in my seat. I really hate being here.

Mr. Shaffer looks at Tim, who stands at the side of the chair I'm sitting in. "And they couldn't take some time off?"

"Just get to the point," Tim says tightly.

Mr. Shaffer sits back again. "All right. I'm worried about Vincent. He hasn't been in school for three weeks, and he's already behind in his school work. In fact, he has been since school started. I don't know what to do to help him anymore, especially since he doesn't put any effort in it himself, at all. It makes me wonder if something else is going on."

I try not so show that the last thing catches me off guard - what do he mean,_ something else going on_?

"It's obvious to me he won't be able to finish eight grade like it is now, and I'm not sure if repeating the year will be any help at all. We will just find ourselves in the same position this time next year, if we don't manage to make any changes."

I shift in my seat again. I'm real close to say I'm gonna drop out instead, but I know I won't be allowed to do that 'cause I'm too young. I really wish I was sixteen, or even better eighteen, then no one could tell me what to do anymore. Not even Tim. I hate that he dragged me here, I thought we could just ignore the letter when we found it in the mail, 'cause what the hell can they do anyway? It ain't like they can send someone to get me every morning and bring me here.

I stare at my cast as Mr. Shaffer keeps talking. Maybe I can somehow drop out anyway, if I find a job. Then they can't say anything, right?

I suddenly realize everyone has gone silent, and I snap my head back up again. The other man sitting at the side of the desk leans forward, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Can you please read this, Vincent?" he says, sounding a bit annoyed, even though he hides it behind a fucking smile.

I don't move. "What?"

"Just take the sheet and read what it says."

I glance up at Tim, if he knows what's going on, but it seems like he don't.

"This is bullshit," I mutter, and to my surprise no one tells me not to cuss.

"You have some trouble reading?" the man wonders, and I feel my face grow hot.

"No."

"Then there will be no problem with taking the sheet and show us."

I manage to let out a heavy sigh as I rip it from his hand, sitting back again and staring down at the words.

"Out loud, please."

I frown and try to focus my eyes. The letters are too small, and some of them move around a little, and some words are just too long and I don't know how to read them. They don't make sense. I struggle through the first words, slowly spelling them out, then glance up at the man. He sits watching me, but I can't make out his expression. Maybe I said it wrong? I look back at the sheet and try to start over, managing the first line and I hope I got it right. But then I get sick of it, 'cause what the hell? I toss the sheet onto the desk and glare.

"It's stupid!"

"What is?" the man wants to know, but I don't answer, just tap my foot against the floor, wishing I could cross my arms. Then I hastily rise.

"I'm gettin' out of here."

"Vincent, sit down!" Mr. Shaffer orders, and Tim grabs my arm to hold me when I try to brush past him. I don't know what his problem is, he didn't finish school, either! I rip myself free from him, feeling really trapped all sudden, my vision getting all fuzzy. I push Tim with my good hand, but he don't even stagger. Stupid, fucking, broken arm!

I try to push him again, and I can see that Tim gets real mad at me, he would probably clock me if it wasn't for the others in the room. He hisses at me to calm the fuck down, only I don't know how to do it anymore. I turn away from him, kicking at the chair I sat in before.

"I ain't stupid!"

The school counselor, Mrs. Gardner, speaks up for the first time. "No one said you are, Vincent. Sit down and let us talk about what we can do to help you finish Middle school."

I wanna fucking hit someone. It was forever ago I was in a good fight, but I still have weeks to go before the cast is off. I still can't even button my fucking jeans, Tim had to help me get dressed to come here. I hate feeling helpless. I hate that they make me feel dumb. All my friends are moving forward, they don't care about homework and ditch sometimes and don't care about anything, but they still manage to go to High school. So why can't I?

I know I say a lot of bad things. Mrs. Gardner pales, and Mr. Shaffer looks real pissed, and Tim grabs me by my collar and drags me out of the office, pushes me down onto a chair standing there and tells me to stay, before heading back in. But no way, I ain't staying! They can go to hell, so as soon the door closes behind him, I'm up on my feet again, leaving without looking back.

xXx

I'm half way home when Tim's car screeches to stop right next to me, and he jumps out without even turning the engine off. He walks fast around the hood of the car, placing himself in front of me.

"The hell, Curly!" he barks. "I'm takin' the day off for you and you act like this?"

"Shut up," I mutter, and his eyes darken.

"Get in the car."

I take a step back, shaking my head. "No."

"I said get in the fuckin' car!"

"I ain't goin' back there!"

"Did I say we are?" He glares hard at me. "You're fuckin' lucky if they decide not to kick you out."

"Yeah? Maybe I don't care."

"Maybe you should care. I swear, you gonna end up back in juvie, keeping up like this."

It feels like getting sucker-punched in the gut. Bile rises up my throat, and I knot my left hand to not show it's shaking. "What? What did I do?"

"You never _think_, Curly! You give them the upper hand instead of takin' control, behaving like that. You think they gonna let this slip? They fuckin' have their eyes on you now."

"They think I'm dumb!"

"Sometimes you are."

"Fuck you!" I start to walk again, trying to walk around him, but he grabs me and holds me back, just like he did in the office.

"Get your shit together, okay? Use that thick head of yours for once."

I cuss at him again, trying to rip myself free, and he lets go. I take a step back and stare down at the asphalt, at my torn sneakers he had to help me tie this morning. And suddenly I think of everything else he has done for me, and everything he didn't do that I needed him to.

"Why didn't you come to visit me in juvie?" I mumble.

"Shit, what brought that up?"

I shrug with my left shoulder. "I don't know."

He sighs heavily, like he don't know what to think. "Curly-"

"Never mind," I interrupt him.

"If it's that important, I'll come next time."

I nod, still not looking up, thinking it can't be a next time. But if he had come last time, I maybe wouldn't have asked for that phone call. Things had been different then, maybe.

"You think I'm weak?"

"What?"

I lift my gaze. "When you do stuff with your gang and all, why can't I come?"

"I have let you tag along."

"Not always."

"Shit Curly, what is this crap?"

I bite my lip, looking away. My whole body tingles. I think of how he has helped me these last weeks, like, always been there. 'Cause he has, right? Even if he didn't come to visit, it's just good 'cause it means he didn't _realize_. That he don't know anything.

I breathe in and out. We're standing in the middle of a street, houses lying all around, a dog barking in the distance. Now and then a car drives by, and I have never been this close to just let it slip out. Maybe I want him to know so he can tell me I ain't weak and stupid. 'Cause if he just says it without knowing what happened, it won't mean anything. I won't know if it's true or not.

"What if-"

But I can't say it. I can't take his reaction, if he reacts wrong. And what about Scott? Am I supposed to tell about him, too? Tim with all his girls coming and going, he won't understand. He won't get it. I open my mouth and close it, and then I realize I won't ever tell him, I can't, not if he will look at me differently. Maybe I could tell him about the bad stuff, 'cause... 'cause well, even if it was my fault, I don't know if it was, but Bennett is much bigger than me and I was locked up and everything. But Scott... I mean, he's the good stuff, right? He's good. And I miss him 'cause he told me I ain't weak, he don't think I'm dumb. And he knows everything.

But I ain't supposed to like him the way I do. 'Cause he's no girl.

"Can we go home now?" I mumble, finding my voice again.

Tim gives me a weird look. "Hey, Curly-"

"Let's just go home, okay?"

xXx

School works out that I will have to repeat eight grade. Go with kids two years younger than me. I also have to go to school the rest of the semester, but only three times a week and I won't get any home work, 'cause they say they will focus on my reading. Getting me read better. I guess I can try that, not that I care of anything, but maybe it will be good.

I'm lucky too, 'cause after four weeks with the cast on I go to the hospital for a check-up, and they change it to one that only goes to my elbow, not over it, meaning I can bend my arm again and do most things myself. It's still a little difficult, and everything takes longer time, but whatever. Bad thing about it though is that they want me to keep it a little longer, after making an x-ray, so we're in the middle of May already when the cast comes off completely.

May. I walk around restless, not knowing what will happen now.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading, and please review! Your support means everything :)  
_


	31. Fights

**Good Until it Hurts**

**31\. Fights  
**

He don't call me. He's been out a month, but who's counting? I fucking don't. And I don't care, either.

I glare at the guy in front of me while panting heavily. It's almost too hot for a fight, the sun beating down on us and the guys standing around watching. The t-shirt I'm wearing clings to my body, soaked with sweat, and I wipe my forehead with my arm as we both catch a breath for a moment. Almost all of the others have been smart enough to take their shirts off, but I just can't - it's too many fucking memories.

Maybe that's why he don't call me. 'Cause of what I told him and how I bawled and stuff. Maybe he don't want anything to do with me anymore 'cause of that.

I knot my hands again as the guy crouches down, ready to go at me again. I hurry to step forward first, blocking his blow with my arm to hit with the other. He grunts, finds an opening and puts his fist in my face. Shit. I blink furiously, tears in my eyes, and he grins wide, showing his teeth, making the anger boil in me. He dares a quick glance at his buddies, who cheer loudest now, not expecting me to bounce back so fast, but I do, and my knuckles connect with his nose.

"Fuck!" he wheezes, taking a step back, blood running down his mouth and chin.

I think I have him now, and I go for his face again, only he manages to block me the last second, his elbow hitting my temple hard. My head snaps to the side and I get dizzy for a moment, not ready for his next blow that lands in my stomach and making me lose all my air, doubling over, and then he just have to kick my thigh and I'm down in the dust.

I crawl up, ignore the other guys cheering and my own friends groaning as I turn around and stomp away. I don't even look back, cursing at myself, angry for losing, my pulse buzzing in my ears.

And Scott can go fuck himself or something. He even _asked _for my number, and now he don't give a shit? He makes me feel like some stupid girl, but no way in hell I'm gonna sit home just waiting for a phone call that won't come.

"Curly, wait up!"

I don't slow down, but Davy catches up with me anyway. Slowing his steps just a little bit, he continues to walk beside me, and I really have to strain myself to not push him away.

"You need some ice," he says, but I just shrug. I don't care about bruises. Only when I get home I raid the fridge for a beer anyway, press the cold glass bottle against my eye for a while, before popping the top off and taking a gulp. Davy has sat down on a kitchen chair, trying to not look at all the dirty dishes standing everywhere. I haven't been to his place a lot, but I know his ma cleans all the time.

"Maybe we can go to the Dingo tonight," Davy says, slowly pushing away a plate with moldy leftovers standing next to his elbow. "I heard Pattie's going to be there."

I grip the bottle's neck harder. "Who the fuck is that?" I mutter, but I think I know.

"You don't remember the girl from that party? I bet she'll bring a bunch of friends, too, so you know, you can talk to someone, too."

I take a gulp from the beer again, to not have to answer.

"So what do you say?" Davy continues to nag. "We goin'?"

"How the hell should I know?" I snap, and I can see he gets sulky.

"Well, I'm goin'," he mutters.

I leave him in the kitchen and walk out into the living room, trying to not glance at the phone. It's better he don't call me. It's better I hook up with Pattie's fucking friend, right? Be normal.

I sit down in the armchair with my beer, wishing I had taken two. Three. I really want to get drunk.

"See you tonight, then?" Davy says strained, and I look up. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at me.

"Yeah, whatever."

He looks at me like something is wrong with me. I don't care, I just want him out of here. I take a drink again, and three seconds later, the front door slams shut.

xXx

I don't go out. I blame it on the weather, that it's too fucking hot. Instead I just lie on my back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I try to remember what he said, my last day. Just that day was so fucked up, I don't want to think about it at all. I don't want to think about juvie. If I see Scott, maybe it will just remind me of everything again.

I rub at the wounds on my knuckles, making them sting. I know I shouldn't do that, not now when I don't burn myself with cigarettes anymore. I stopped when I had the cast on, but the small scars are still there, dotting my hand and arm. I guess that's the same with what happened. It will always be there and it hurts thinking about it, it makes me hate myself and everything, feeling odd and lonely, but it's not like it happened yesterday anymore. It feels distant. So then maybe it's just good that he don't call me, maybe it would start things over again. And maybe I can start to like girls instead.

A sound makes my thoughts stop short. I sit up fast.

Shit.

I jump out of bed and run down the stairs, my heart beating hard now. Only Angie is home, and she gets there first, grabbing the receiver.

"Is it for me?" I blurt out as she says hello, but she just rolls her eyes and turns her back at me, chatting away.

I try to tell myself I don't care. So what if he never calls?

But then I think he's the only one that knows, the only one who gets me, the only one who is like me. But he's the one that don't care.

Fuck this shit. I kick the wall, making a beeline for the kitchen. I'm gonna get drunk, and I'm gonna go out and hook up, and I'm gonna forget Scott.

I'm gonna forget everything, but especially him.

xXx

It's hard to stand up. I don't know how many beers I've had, but the world is tilting. I lean my back against the fence, glad that it's dark out now and not as hot. But I ain't happy about the girl standing with me, not caring about my short answers to her talking and giggling.

I should like it, I know. I guess she's cute and all, short blonde hair and big eyes lined with black, but she keeps looking over her shoulder at her friends, and then back at me, and I know she wants to kiss me. Like, to show them. It don't really bothers me, but I don't feel so good so I don't know. But I know about reputations and I have never been with a girl, and I'm nearly fifteen so either I will have to start lying soon or just do it. And maybe if I kiss her now and then take her with me out of sight, I can tell everyone we did it and brag about it, even if we don't do it for real. 'Cause I don't think I can do that.

My mind is fuzzy when I lean down. Her mouth is soft and warm and tastes like bubble gum, but it feels all wrong. I try to grope her a little, if it will make it feel better, put my hands on her hips and drag her a bit closer. She giggles when I do that, and I feel her breath against my skin before we kiss again, and I stick my tongue into her mouth, and I feel her hands on me, and the beer I had comes right back up. I push her away, and she shrieks my name, but then she quickly jumps backwards when I throw up in the grass next to her shoes.

"Fuck, sorry," I slur, holding myself up by clutching my fingers into the chain-linked fence. "Shit..."

"Um," she says, grimacing at the puke between us, looking back toward the cars. "I think my friend's calling. I have to go."

I don't care. I don't even watch her go, just lean a little forward to spit in the grass, trying to get rid of the taste of beer and bubble gum, and the feeling of wanting to cry.

xXx

I fight a lot. There ain't much else to do during the days, with no school and no summer job, and with Davy mostly hanging out with Pattie. He has tried to get me to come with on a double date, but so far I've managed to dodge it, not feeling up to it. It's better pretending I'm busy with other stuff, besides, bruises and cuts and soreness take my mind off the bad things. Only Tim gets a little mad at me, when he some nights has to help me get my dirty shirt off 'cause I can hardly lift my arms. He looks at my ribs and mutters something, that I should take it easy before I break another bone. But I don't think he cares that much, as long as I don't fight with weapons. 'Cause he tells me that, to make sure not to bring a knife or pipe or some stupid shit like that to the fights.

I don't want to use any weapons so that's no problem, but I don't want to take it easy, either. I drink and smoke and sometimes get high, when someone offers. I tell myself I have a good time, that my life is back to normal. I know it's not, it won't be, but if I can pretend maybe it will feel true one day. And if not, at least I can punch someone in the face every day, pretend it's someone else, spit blood, break a nose, lose a tooth, feel great when I win and hate when I lose. I don't have to think of anything else than the next fight, where it will take place and who I will fight with. And there's a lot of guys who want the same, and some days we're friends and another enemies, and at night we drink and party and have a good time. I even kiss a girl again, drunk out of my mind but with no throwing up.

So life is good. I don't care about the phone anymore. I don't think about him. I ain't a fag, I don't lie in my bed thinking a lot, wondering what he's doing, if he's okay, if he lost my number or just chose to forget about me. I don't want him here anyway.

And even if my heart speeds up a bit every time someone calls, I ain't disappointed that it's always for Angie. Until one day I come home, tired and a little high and dirty 'cause it rained before and I've been down in the mud, finding a note next to the phone, with my name, a number and '_call Scott'_ written on it.

* * *

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	32. What I Want

**Good Until it Hurts**

**32\. What I Want  
**

It's Scott's name on a fucking piece of paper. Shit. I stare at it, thinking it's some really shitty joke, 'til I realize I haven't told anyone about him, haven't said his name or anything, so no one can know about him. Only now his name is written there, so someone knows, probably Angie 'cause it looks like her handwriting.

My hands feel clammy as I reach for it, fumbling as I pick it up. He really called me? But why would he do that, after ignoring me for over a month? I don't get it. And I don't feel happy about it either, not like I thought I would be. Maybe I had been if he had called me when he promised to, but now? I waited and waited, and he didn't give a shit about me, so why the fuck should I give a shit about him? I just feel more and more angry when thinking about it, how he probably expects me to call him back, like he has done nothing wrong.

I knot my fingers around the note, wrinkle it inside the palm of my hand. I should just throw it away, right? I'm good now, ain't I? It ain't like I need him or anything. If I don't call him back, that would show him to leave me alone. He should have left me alone in juvie, he shouldn't mess with my head like this.

I push the note into the pocket of my jeans, making my way into the kitchen. I grab a beer and drink it standing leaning against the counter, staring down at my muddy shoes, but I can't stop my thoughts from racing. Not my heart either, and that's what annoys me the most. I want to think it's the drugs, the beer, anything, but fuck, I know it's not. And I wish I knew what to do, that I had someone to ask, but shit, the one to ask is him, right? He would fucking know what to say, 'cause he always did before.

I press the beer bottle against my forehead, closing my eyes and starting to chuckle like crazy 'cause of the irony. And then the anger just slips away, and even if I know should just drop him, never look back, I know I ain't gonna do that. I know I'm gonna call him, but so what, it ain't like I never do stupid shit, right? So why the hell should I stop now?

xXx

I managed to unfold the note again without ripping it. I have read it over and over, trying to memorize the numbers, but they only make sense if I put my finger to follow them one by one, Angie writing them so small and sloppy I ain't even sure if I read them right, if it's a five or a three, or a six or a zero. Maybe she got all of them wrong, just to be mean? I feel cold thinking about it, that what if I call him and it goes to someone else? I don't know his last name, and Oklahoma City is even bigger than Tulsa, so then I'll never find him.

Suddenly the door opens up and Tim barges in, wriggling off his leather jacket at the same time, throwing it over the only chair.

"You sure know how to make a mess," he says to me, looking at my dirty shoes leaving mud on my cover. But who cares, it ain't his bed. And it ain't like he cleans up in here or anything, either. Or do the fucking laundry.

"What you got there?"

"Huh?" But before I have the time to react, he has stepped closer and ripped the note from my hand. I jump up so fast I almost stumble out of bed. "Give it back!"

He holds me away with one arm, holding the note out of my reach with the other. "What's this? A love letter? Finally got some chick to notice you?"

"No! Give it back!" I claw at his arm, but he only grins at me.

"I would be about time-" His eyebrows rise. "Call _Scott_?"

"Give it back!"

"Hey, calm down!" He dodges my punches, puts his hand against my chest, pressing the note against my shirt, and I just manage to catch it when he lets go of it.

"Fuck you," I snap at him, realizing that I'm close to start bawling. Horrified I turn around before he notices anything, my hands shaking.

"Somethin' wrong?" Tim wonders, the teasing in his voice suddenly all gone. I don't answer him. "Curly?"

I take a deep breath. "No."

"You in some kind of trouble with that guy?"

"No." I don't trust my voice to say anything else. I go back to my bed, this time kicking off my shoes, even if it's already too late.

"You better not lie."

I dare a glance at him, where he stands in the middle of the floor, frowning at me. "I know somethin's goin' on."

"Nothin's goin' on," I mutter. I put the note under my pillow before lying down again.

"Yeah? 'Cause it sure looks like it."

I close my eyes tiredly. I guess I need to throw him a bone, or he'll never stop asking. I know I could lie, make up some trouble, but if I do that it would mean Scott can never come and visit, if Tim thinks badly of him.

"He's just a friend from juvie," I decide to say.

"Friend from juvie?"

"Shit, we were just hangin' out in there, okay?" I snap my eyes open again. "What the hell is wrong with that?" I hope he can't see how my pulse speeds up, 'cause there are a lot of wrongs in the way we hung out. At least in Tim's eyes. In everybody's eyes, if they found out.

He watches me closer. "I have a couple of guys in the gang who's been in juvie, you know that."

"So?" I feel my mouth go dry. What if they know something? Told him about...

"You don't get _friends _in juvie, Curly. You get them at home, in your neighborhood. Guys you grow up with, you can trust them. But in places like that?" He picks up his pack of smokes from the desk, shaking out two sticks. Throwing one at me, he lights up his, grabbing the chair to turn it around before sitting down on it. "They always want something. Nothing is for free in there. Nothing's ever for free."

"You don't know shit," I mutter, but his words are taking me back to his birthday, my first phone call, how Bennett forced me to pay for it-

_I want something from you first_

I have to swallow the bile down, forcing the memories out of my head again, but it's always hard. They never go away, are always there in the background. I look away, flip the unlit cigarette between my fingers, imagine it glowing with ember, the hot end pressed against my skin, taking the pain away. But I won't go back there.

"Apparently I know more than you. You owe that guy something?"

"No."

He looks at me like he thinks I'm lying.

"I don't! Why you even care?"

"I'm tryin' to be a big brother here." He takes another drag of his cigarette, then suddenly grins again. "It's a fuckin' hard job, you know that, you little shit?"

xXx

Another week passes before I get the guts. I know Tim is wrong, not everyone wants something from you, but even if they do that it ain't all bad if you want the same from them. And maybe it's the other way around, me wanting something from Scott? That's why I'm gonna call him, not for some other reason. But I still need to steal some hubcaps to sell so I can buy some good weed, 'cause if I'm gonna do it I wanna be real high, not just take some puffs of someone else's joint.

I count my quarters before leaving home, hoping I have enough for the phone booth. I decide to go to the park first, hang out with Davy for a while, watching a few fights, but shaking my head no when they ask if I want a go. Instead I take Davy with me, asking him where he has his girl, and he goes all moody, saying nothing. I share my joint with him, making sure I get the most of it, then tell him I have some stuff to do. He don't ask what, just shrugs and walks back to the others.

I go downtown, heading for the closest phone booth, and luckily it's empty, and hardly no one around. I open the glass door and step inside, not hearing anything except for my own pulse and breaths, and my hands are really, really shaking. Maybe 'cause of the joint. But I manage to lift the receiver and punch in the number, the one I think is the right one, and then I wait.

And wait.

What if they don't pick up? What if my money runs out before -

Suddenly someone is there, saying their name, but I don't even hear it.

"Uhh... Scott there?" I stammer, cursing at myself 'cause I ain't like, fucking nervous or anything. Or shit, I am. I wait for her to say I got the wrong number, but she don't. Instead she tells me to wait a second, but it takes a lot longer, it feels like a fucking _hour_ before someone picks up the receiver again. I push in another quarter in the slot, closing my eyes.

And then he says hello.

* * *

_I'm really sorry for taking forever to update. Thank you so much for reading anyway!_


	33. Like Me

**Good Until it Hurts**

**33\. Like Me  
**

What the fuck am I doing here? I keep asking myself that as I nervously take drags of my cigarette, forcing the smoke down into my lungs until I almost get nauseous. I think I have went through a whole pack since leaving home an hour ago,' cause I couldn't stand just sitting around waiting. Only being here ain't better, especially when the bus I'm waiting for finally drives into the parking lot and stops.

Fidgeting I watch the doors open and people starting to get off it, milling around to grab their suitcases from the trunk. I try to spot Scott among them, moving a little closer, only it seems like he ain't there. For a minute I get real scared that he changed his mind, that he won't come, but then he takes a step out of the crowd, hoisting a backpack up on his shoulder while looking around.

My stomach makes a flip when I see him. It feels like all the fucking butterflies I have in it get stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe right. I frantically tell myself it's still time to split if I want to, 'cause he hasn't seen me yet, but I know I can't do that. I can't just leave, not when he's this close. So deciding quickly, I throw the unfinished cigarette to the ground, somehow remembering to look both ways before I cross the street.

"You're fuckin late!" I step up at the curb beside him, making sure to keep my distance in case he'll try to hug me or something. My hands feel all clammy, and I wipe them off on my jeans as he glances up at the big clock on the station wall.

"I thought I was early," he says. "Hi, Curly."

"Come on." I turn my back at him to walk back across the street again, 'cause I really need to get away from all the people. It feels like everyone is watching me, and there ain't no walls here, no room with books like it used to be. I don't turn to see if he's following me, but I can feel his presence, just a step back.

"I'm pretty hungry. You know any good place to eat?" He adjusts his backpack as he walks up beside me on the sidewalk, his arm bumping into mine. I don't know if it's accidentally or not, but I sidestep anyway, away from him.

"I don't have any money," I mutter, trying hard to ignore the goosebumps rising on my skin.

"That's alright, I can pay."

I shake my head. "No way."

"Why? It ain't like I can't afford it."

I glare at him, 'cause he should fucking know why. We're just friends, right? I told him back in juvie I don't want to hang out, only I guess that's a bit unfair to say now, when it was me asking him to come.

It sounded good at the time, when we spoke on the phone, I liked hearing his voice and everything. It made me feel good. And I fucking believed him, when he said he didn't call 'cause he lost my number. When he said it took time 'cause he had to call all the Shepard's in the phone book before he got to the right house. So I asked him if we could meet up.

I really regret that now. I start to feel weird, with him being here. It's like I don't know how to walk or how to breathe, and I don't know how to handle it. I stop on the street, wanting to tell him to go back home, that this ain't working. Only I don't know _what's _not working, if we're just friends. I don't have any problems with Davy or anyone else paying for my stuff. I used to jump on it, when someone offered, I mean, who fucking wouldn't? But I can't let Scott pay for me.

"You okay?" he asks, looking worried, reaching out so his fingers lightly touch my hand. I allow it for a second, 'cause his fingertips feel warm and comfortable against my skin, but then I jerk it away, feeling my face getting red.

"Don't do that!" I snap, quickly looking around to make sure no one saw it.

"Sorry."

"Fuck this!" I turn around to go, but Scott grabs my arm to stop me. I snatch it out of his grip.

"Stop touching me all the time!"

"Curly-" he tries, and I'm fucking losing it, placing my hands against his chest and pushing him away, hard.

Somehow he manages to catch his balance before he falls, staring at me with wide eyes. I hate myself for it, but I just want him to go. I can't handle it, the way my heart speeds and how I want to put my hands on him again, or him bumping his arm against mine.

"What are you doing?" he wonders, sounding a lot more hurt than pissed. "I didn't try to do anything."

I take a step back when I realize what he's talking about. Shit. I have to tell him I know. He's not _Bennett_, he ain't nothing like him! But how the fuck do I say that, how do I tell him what I want when I don't want it? I can't say anything, but he should _know_, right? Only it don't seem like that, 'cause he takes a step back too, making the distance between us even bigger.

When I don't say anything, he glances at the bus still standing parked, ready to go back to Oklahoma City in just a few minutes.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come. I just thought..."

"What?" I manage as he trails off.

"I thought there was a reason you asked me." He turns his gaze down, playing with the strap of his backpack. "I thought since what happened between us in juvie..."

"I don't wanna talk about juvie!" I say fast.

"Can we talk about us, at least?" Rising his chin again, he stares me in the eyes. "I rode a bus for two hours and you're pushing me away. You were the one asking me to call you. You were the one asking me to come. Do you even know what you want, Curly?"

I nervously lick my lip. "I ain't like you," I tell him.

"You keep saying that."

Shuffling my feet, I kick lightly on a small pebble lying in front of me, watching it roll out onto the street.

"I ain't going to force you into anything. I know-"

"You don't know shit!"

Sighing, he shakes his head. "You want me to go home again? Is that it? 'Cause I can do that if you want. I mean, if I misunderstood something..."

I want to say no, but I can't get the fucking word out. He tries real hard to not look disappointed, but I can see it the way his shoulders slump and how he don't want to look at me anymore. Turning around slowly, he says, "Okay. I get it. It was good seeing you, anyway."

Shit. I don't want him to go. I don't want him to stay, either, but I really don't want him to go. It's so fucking weird. I almost wish we were back in juvie, 'cause then I would grab him and make him stay in the room with me. It was easier back then, even if it was harder, too.

He's halfway back across the street when I finally get my voice to work.

"Scott!"

He stops, glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

What do I say? I can't say I missed him. Can't say I want him to stay. Can't say how fucking confused I am. I turn my head down to stare at my shoes, pushing my hands into my pockets.

"You... you wanna go get a burger or what?"

xXx

I don't take him to one of my usual hangouts. I don't want to run into someone I know and have to explain who he is. I know I could just say he was in juvie with me, but I don't want to risk anything. What if someone figures it's more than that? So we go downtown, as far south as we can without getting into the Socs territory.

He orders the burgers and pay for them, and I feel real silly, sitting at the table waiting. I wouldn't if I was with Davy, but then we wouldn't pick a joint like this, with mostly families with kids. I feel real out of place, but Scott don't seem to have any troubles with it as he slides into the booth opposite of me, pushing the tray forward over the table.

"This okay?"

I pick up one of the cheeseburgers. "Yeah, it's fine."

We don't talk much as we eat, and I keep staring down at the table top, but every time I glance up he's watching me, smiling a little. And I guess that feels good.

Only when we leave, I start to think about what we're supposed to do now. It ain't like I can take him home with me. I guess I didn't think about telling him that, when I said he could come. But he must know it already, right?

I stuff my hands back into my pockets as we walk around Tulsa, picking streets with less people, and I start to feel a lot more comfortable being with him. It feels more comfortable talking. Now and then I even dare to walk so close we bump into each other, and he don't seem to mind it, 'cause he just turns his head to smile at me when it happens. It's like he knows I'm doing it on purpose.

It's not until I fish up my pack of smokes again and light up in front of him that things almost go wrong again. He grabs my wrist when I try to block out the wind around the tip of the cigarette, and first I let him, 'cause we're alone in some park, until I realize what he's staring at.

"What's that?" he wonders.

"It's fuckin' nothing!" I try to snatch my arm back, but not as violent as the last time.

"You did that on purpose?" He lets go of me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking fine."

He looks down at my hand again, then up, and I can see he don't believe me. "You sure? I mean, after what happened to you-"

"Fuck," I snap. "Don't bring that stupid shit up, okay?"

He swallows once, and I wonder if he's scared I will push him again, 'cause I can't help but glare at him.

"Have you... have you had anyone to talk to about it? I mean, if you're hurting yourself-"

"I don't," I grumble. "And I don't talk about it. I just wanna forget it."

"What about your brother, then? Have you told him?"

"Shit, no way. I can't tell Tim, okay? I would be fuckin' dead!"

"He wouldn't blame you. It wasn't your fault."

I stare hard at him. "It don't matter, I won't tell him anything."

"Curly-"

"I won't tell him about you either. I won't tell anyone."

"I know."

"It's fucked up, you know that?"

"What is?"

"This! It don't matter! I can't like you. If we can't hang out anyway it don't fuckin' matter!"

Scott gives me a sad smile. "But you do?" he wonders. "Like me?"

"Shut up," I whisper.

He reaches out again, tracing my scars with his finger, sending warmth and electricity up my arm.

"I know you maybe don't want this," he says lowly. "But I like you, too."

* * *

_Hopefully you're still here, after a month with no update. So sorry about that!  
_


	34. Fifteen

**Good Until it Hurts**

**34\. Fifteen  
**

In August, I finally turn fifteen. I think that now when I'm older, maybe Tim will let me hang out with him and his gang a lot more, I hope so anyway, and I say that to Scott when I call him. Only he asks, "_Is it your birthday today? Why didn't you tell me_?" and I'm like, "I'm tellin' you now, ain't I?". 'Cause it's not like my birthday is a big deal or anything, just a reason to get drunk, but we always find a reason for that anyway. Getting drunk and maybe getting high too, if we can find some weed, but that shouldn't be a problem. _  
_

I babble away about smoking, how I hate this guy who sells it but that I'm gonna go there before the party anyway, that Tim gave me a couple of dollars as a gift, when I notice it's real quiet in the other end. First I think it's something wrong with the phone, or maybe my time run out, but then I start thinking he maybe hung up on me.

"Scott?"

"_Yeah, I'm still here,_" he says quietly.

"Shit, I almost thought you hung up!"

"_No_." He seems to hesitate, and then he says, "_If I asked you not to, would you still do it?_"

"Do what?"

"_Buy drugs_."

"Why would you ask me not to?" I wonder, bewildered.

"_'Cause... you know. It ain't good._"

"Gettin' high? It sure feels good, anyway."

"_I'm serious_," Scott says firmly. "_I don't want you to get in trouble._"

"I won't get in trouble," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's just some weed."

"_You don't know that._"

"Don't be so fuckin' boring." I knot my free hand, place it on the wall next to the phone, feeling irritated all sudden. Why do he has to keep nagging about it? It ain't like I'm planning to rob a stupid bank or something. "I have smoked before and I didn't get in trouble. I just wanna have some fun on my fuckin' birthday, alright?"

He sighs, not answering.

"What's it to you, anyway?" I snap.

"_You mean why I _care _about you?_"

I open my mouth to retort, then close it. _Shit_. Uncurling my hand, I take a step back and put it in my pocket instead. "It ain't like I ask you to," I finally say, and I guess I sound pretty sour 'cause he don't answer to that either. And I start to feel real bad, 'cause I don't want us to fight. Usually I don't care if people are mad at me, but I don't want him to be.

"Scott?" I ask, fearing a little that he won't answer. But he do.

"_Yeah?_"

Grumbling a little for myself, I finally sigh. "Fine. I won't."

xXx

I really wish I hadn't promised Scott. I try to figure a way out of it, like maybe ask Davy to buy the weed instead, 'cause when thinking about I didn't promise not to smoke, only not to buy it, right? But I know I can't do that. Good thing I didn't promise not to drink, at least, 'cause I really need to get drunk tonight. Somehow it really bothers me, both that it's my birthday and what Scott said, everything reminding me too much about juvie and what happened there, 'cause it started on Tim's birthday and I know Scott meant getting arrested when he said trouble. And if that happens, I will go straight back to Bennett.

I have a few beers at home, or maybe more than a few, hoping Tim will replace them before Pa notices, 'cause it's Friday, but I don't really care, he can yell at me if he wants. I just want to get rid of the thoughts again. I hate when it feels like I can't control them.

I meet up with Davy a few hours later, and my head is already spinning a little as we walk, and I realize I forgot my money when we're already half way to Buck's place. So I ask Davy if he has some to lend me.

"Why?" he wonders, but he has already fished up his wallet. "I have two bucks."

"That's fine."

He hesitates, the bills in his hand. "You gonna pay me back this time?"

"Shit, just give them to me." I rip them from him, pushing them down into the front pocket of my jeans.

"I was gonna use them on my date with Pattie next weekend," Davy complains a little. "I need them back before that."

"You always hang out with that chick," I mutter, accidentally stepping off the sidewalk, and Davy gabs my arm to haul me back.

"Maybe you wanna come, too?" he says once I have my balance back. "I can ask her to bring a friend."

"No way!"

"Why not? You never date anyone."

"So? Maybe I don't like nobody."

I can feel him glancing at me. "It's just... you never talk about girls. Don't you like 'em?"

I know he probably don't mean anything about it, that he just forgot the word _yet_, 'cause there is no way in hell he can know anything, or even guess it. I don't even know if he realizes guys like Scott exist.

And I guess like me, even if I don't want to think about it like that. Just 'cause I like Scott don't mean I like other guys. It means nothing.

"The hell you think? Course I like them!" I manage to say, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. "I just don't wanna date them. I can get laid anyway, can't I? I don't have to like them to do that."

"I'm just sayin-"

"Maybe you should stop fuckin' talk, all right?" I stop, turning toward him, feeling a little satisfied when he flinches. He knows I would win a fight, and I wouldn't even hesitate to beat the shit out of him if he keeps this up.

"Why you get so upset?" he almost stutters.

"Just stop talkin' shit about me," I say harshly.

"Sorry, then."

"Yeah, fuck that."

"Curly-"

"Forget it." I turn around again, start walking, and he hesitates just a little before following me, luckily not saying another word. 'Cause if he did, I would probably kick his fucking teeth out.

xXx

The music is real loud at Buck's. I sit in one of the booths, drinking everything I can get my hands on, sometimes even get up to the bar to get some beer myself. I tell Buck to write it up, to ask Tim about the payment later, even if he probably will be pissed about it 'cause he has told me not to do that again after I did it the first time. But I don't care, 'cause I really need to drink.

Only when I get back to the booth the second time, there is a girl sitting on my spot, and I recognize her, the girl I kissed and almost threw up on, with the short blonde hair. And I see that Davy is looking at me, really looking, raising his eyebrows like, _what are you gonna do about it_?

Fuck him. I glare at him hard, before chugging down my beer, and then I sit down, sling my arm around the girl, and when she turns around I start to kiss her. And it ain't all bad this time, I close my eyes and pretend it's someone else, only when I do that I think shit, if Scott finds out about this he will get real hurt. Not that I have said anything, I haven't promised not to do anything with girls, but still, it makes me feel like shit. So after a few minutes I push her away and rise, make my way out of the booth, thinking I should leave, but that would look weird, it ain't even midnight yet. But there's a couple of guys playing pool, so I walk up to them, asking if I can joint them, and they say okay. We play for a while and I lose all of Davy's money, and then one of them asks if I wanna head outside, and I almost flip, not wanting to go anywhere alone with some strangers, but then he shows me a joint hidden in his palm, so I go.

I feel even worse when taking the first hit, 'cause of Scott, but he ain't here, is he? He should be, when it's my birthday and all. But I know I'm unfair thinking like that, 'cause if he had been here, I would have ignored him in front of my friends. I know I would. I wouldn't kiss him like I kissed the blonde girl.

I end up pretty drunk, and pretty high, too, losing all the money I had and a little more on the games, and it's nearly morning when Tim finally decides I have had enough and drags me home. I don't really know how I get from Buck's to my bed, but I don't really care, I just want to lie down and sleep. Only Tim forces me to take off my t-shirt, 'cause I must have thrown up a little on it, if I read his face right. Maybe I don't, 'cause I'm really, really dizzy.

"I hate bi - birthdays," I slur, holding my arms up when he tells me to, and the world goes dark for a second. "I fuckin' hat'em."

"Yeah?" he says sarcastically, throwing the shirt into a corner of our room. "You seem to have enjoyed yourself."

"I hate your bi-rthday." I have a real sour taste in my mouth, and I lean forward, belching. "Shit."

"You gonna throw up again? 'Cause I won't clean it up."

"No." I shake my head and regret it when I start retching instead. Tim keeps his hand on my shoulder, holding me up 'til I'm done, but at least nothing comes up, even if I spit a little on the floor.

"Go to sleep," Tim orders once I feel better, and I lie down, closing my eyes, but the room won't stop spinning.

xXx

I never tell Scott I smoked weed on my birthday, and I don't say anything about the girl. I think that he'll never find out about it anyway, 'cause there is no way he's gonna meet my friends. Sometimes it makes me feel real low, knowing how different things had been if he were the girl instead, but I don't want him to be. I don't want him to be different.

I ain't sure I want to be different, either. Every time we talk he makes me fucking happy, and it's like a lot of the past just disappears for a while, not lurking in the shadows like some guy wanting to fight dirty and jumping you when you ain't ready anymore. It's still a part of me, a part I can't get rid of no matter how I try, but at least I start to feel better. A lot better.

Only I'm still a bit worried about what Davy said, and I don't know for how much long I can go without getting myself a girl. I don't want any rumors to be spread about me, that I'm some loser kid who don't have a girl 'cause he can't get one. Or even worse, if the truth got spread out. But every time I talk to Scott I kind of forget it, and I always come home in a great mood.

"What's wrong with you?" Angie says one day, when I walk into the kitchen after have being out, making my phone call to Scott. She stands by the counter, opening up a bottle of Coke, watching me with narrowed eyes. "Why you fuckin' smiling all the time? It's freaking me out."

"I don't smile all the time," I protest, even if I know I do that a lot. I just didn't think anyone noticed.

"You on drugs or somethin'?"

"No." I push her to the side to open the fridge. "You took the last Coke?" I look around the door to glare at her. But she ignores it.

"What is it, then?" she just keeps nagging. "I can tell it's something!"

"It ain't nothin'." I grab a beer instead, shutting the door.

"Is it a girl?"

"_No_." But shit, I feel how my face gets warm, and her eyes widen when I hastily turn away to hide it.

"It is! I knew it! Who is it?"

I'm just about to deny it, when I realize it's pretty good if she thinks that. It's way better than the truth anyway, and she is a really good gossiper. If she says I'm liking a girl, people will find out. So I say, "No one you know," going out into the living room, but she walks after me.

"You can tell me, I won't tell nobody! _Curly_!"

"Shut up, I ain't gonna tell you."

"You think I won't find out anyway?" she threatens me.

I take a gulp of my beer, sitting down onto the couch.

"Curly!"

"What?"

"Just tell me her name."

"No."

"You are so boring!" She stomps out of the room, finally leaving me alone.

But I sit there starting to think, what if she's right? What if she finds out?

I put the beer on the table, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. _Shit_. What do I do then?

* * *

_I am so, so sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter! But good news: the next - and last! - chapter is almost done! So review and I promise to update really soon :)  
_


	35. Glass Rain

**Good Until it Hurts**

**35\. Glass Rain  
**

School starts a few weeks after that. I just turn around in bed, burrow my face down into the pillow when it's time to get up, and lucky me, Tim's already out so he don't know about it. It's easy to fall back to sleep, and when I finally drag myself out of bed it's already lunch time, and it's too late to go. I dress and count my quarters, if I can afford to call Scott today, but it don't seem like it. Fuck it, then.

I go out instead, walk around aimlessly, lift a pack of smokes, run into stupid Gene Barnes at the park. He smirks at me, and I think of maybe starting a fight with him, 'cause it would feel real good to punch his stupid face, but then he passes me a bottle of jack that's almost full, so we end up drinking instead. It's fine until he starts to brag about his second cousin the River King, saying he went to jail like it's a good thing. He talks and talks about it, and then he suddenly asks what's juvie like, that it can't be as hard as prison, and I tell him to shut up, 'cause I really don't want to talk about it. It makes him pissed, but who cares, the bottle of jack is empty anyway, so I aim it at a trashcan and say nice talking to you, even if it wasn't.

I go home after that, to wait for Davy to be finished with school. It's weird, thinking he's at Will Rogers now, and I still have two years left before I will go there, and we're the same age. But I don't think I will go, since I have to finish junior high first, and I won't do that. I guess I should try and find a job instead, getting my own money, maybe my own place. Maybe move to Oklahoma City or something. I really like that thought.

It takes another week until Tim realizes I haven't been to school. He don't say much about it, though, I guess he reckon he can't get me to go, if he don't want to drag me there every day, and it ain't like I'm not gonna put up a fight about it. He shakes his head and says it's my life, and I snort at him, 'cause it ain't like he graduated either. But sometimes he looks at me like he just _knows _I'm gonna screw up my life big time, and I remember the time we talked about juvie, how he seems sure I'm gonna end up there again. But I'm gonna do everything I can to not go back there. Even if it's hard to not shop lift or smoke a joint sometimes.

I feel kind of serious about getting a job, so I start to ask around a bit, but all I get is looks up and down and '_No_' or '_We ain't hiring_' even if they have a sign that they do, and I guess maybe I should dress a bit better, than jeans with holes and a ratty t-shirt, and maybe lie about my age, too. Buts screw them, I don't need a job. Who wants to pump gas into cars or flip burgers anyway. It was a stupid idea.

I think it's real nice, not having to get up early in the mornings or being nagged at never doing my homework, but I'm almost bored out of death most days. Everyone I know is at school or work, and I spend the mornings smoking and watching TV, and then I go out, thinking a lot about what my friends do, and what Scott is doing, but I figure he's in school and reading a lot. I'm glad I didn't told him my plan of trying to get a job, 'cause maybe he would be disappointed it didn't work out.

xXx

I move around in the small space of the telephone booth, take a step to the left, then right, then back again. I have a cigarette in my free hand, but I hardly smoke it. Scott is talking about a new friend he just met, and I feel jealous, even if I should be happy he don't have to be alone. But I want him to not be alone with me.

"So, what, you gonna hang out with him this weekend?" I interrupt him when he starts talking about some party they are invited to, even if I know it's unfair 'cause I party all the time with my friends, too.

"_Um, yeah._"

"I thought you could come here," I say sullenly, even if I hadn't planned to. I know he shouldn't come here, not when we can run into someone I know. "What about this week, then? You could come on Monday."

"_Not Monday, I have school. Don't you?_"

Shit. I realize I haven't told him I haven't been going to school. I guess I just thought since he's smart and all, he wouldn't understand.

"I ain't goin' anymore. They wanted me to start over eight grade," I confess, kicking my foot against the wall. "No way in hell I'm gonna do that. I dropped out."

Something stings my finger, and I drop the cigarette, shaking my hand.

"_What are you doing instead, then?_"

I don't know what to say. I feel like an idiot.

"_Curly?_"

"Yeah?"

"_Don't worry about Jake, I told you he's just a friend__. You know I like you._"

"Yeah?" I feel how I start smiling, dipping my head as I glance around, but the street outside is empty.

"_I could come next weekend,_" Scott says, and my heart flutters. "_Stay a couple of days if you want to._"

"Yeah, that's cool."

xXx

I know we have to be real careful. I have to figure out a few things, like where to go to not being seen. First I think of going to Buck's, see if he has some room Scott can crash in for a night, but that's probably stupid, 'cause Tim is hanging out there a lot. And no way I'm gonna take him home. But maybe I can find some money so he can rent a room at a motel. I ask Angie first, but she just laughs in my face, continuing to brushing her hair, so I go find Tim, who's still at home.

"I need money," I tell him, watching him work on his car.

"What for?"

"I just need it."

"Go get a job, then."

"Yeah, I tried that but no one would give me any."

He glances up from the hood. "I'm kinda low on cash right now."

"I just need like, fifty bucks." I have no idea what a motel costs, but I figure it's expensive, so better be safe.

"Shit, Curly, what trouble are you in?"

"I ain't in trouble!"

He frowns at me, and I guess he don't believe me. But I can't tell the truth anyway, so screw him then. I tell him that, cursing loudly as I turn around to leave.

xXx

I still haven't figured it out, where he's gonna sleep, but I guess we can stay out all night if we have to. I walk to the station early like last time, feeling all jittery and excited, smoking a whole pack as I wait. Only when the bus comes, he don't walk off it. I stand outside, watching people climbing down the stairs until no one else is leaving, but no Scott. And I'm sure it was that bus he said he would be taking.

I walk to the middle door and take a step up the stairs, but he ain't there when I look around, and then the driver comes and tells me to show my ticket or get off. So I do, feeling really confused, but maybe I got the time wrong. I go to look at the time table, but I can't figure it out, so I go back to the bus to ask the bus driver when the next bus is coming. And then I wait, but he don't get off that bus, either. And not the next one. And I start to feel real hungry and grumpy, spending hours just sitting on a bench at the station, so I get up and leave.

Maybe he said Sunday and not Saturday. But I'm sure he said Saturday, that he could stay the night, and he has school on Monday. But I must be wrong 'cause he wouldn't ditch me, would he? Maybe he's hanging out with that other guy instead, regretting he said he would visit me.

Or he forgot about that he said he would come. But why would he do that?

I walk a few miles from the station, and then I walk back and wait again, and after a while there is another bus from Oklahoma City but still no Scott.

xXx

I go home. Tim's there with a few from his gang, and he's real pissed, standing outside our house and staring at his car. I stop close and wonder what the fuss is about, when I notice his flat tires, and it's just not one wheel but all four of them.

"Shit," I say.

"You know anything about this, Curly?" Tim growls at me, opening and closing his fist. "I fuckin' hope you don't!"

And I don't know why I lie, maybe I'm just real pissed, too, of Scott who didn't show and Tim, for always blaming me for things, thinking I'm trouble. I know if I say a name it will be a fight, but I can't really say it's someone in a rival gang, 'cause that would start a war. So I just say I saw Dallas Winston do it, even if I think shit, I should have said Gene Barnes instead, 'cause he's stupid enough to pull a stunt like that, but it's really too late to change my mind 'cause Tim heard it.

xXx

I go call Scott but no one picks up at his house.

xXx

Something is up. I can tell right away, and it ain't just 'cause Tim's face is bruised. I bet he found Winston yesterday, but his expression is so serious I forget that I'm still mad at him, asking what's up.

And Tim tells me about the dead Soc and that Pony Curtis and the other kid Johnny are missing.

"Shit, they killed him?" I say. My stomach knots itself real painful, and my hands get all clammy, 'cause what, they are going to juvie now? Maybe they even go to prison? I almost can't breathe, and I almost can't listen to Tim talking about what he knows, 'cause all the memories hit me real hard, like punches, and I need to get out of the house.

I need for Scott to pick up the damn phone.

xXx

I go to the station again, in case I had the wrong day. No Scott. I wait two hours, and then I go to a pay phone, calling, no answer.

xXx

It feels like everything is going to hell. Tim tells me this and that, saying to lay low, saying to be careful 'cause the Socs are more than pissed, but he don't care to take me with him when he leaves with Ralph in his car. I sit down in our couch and smoke, wishing I had a joint, 'cause all I can think of is Scott and juvie and Pony and Bennett and what happened. I feel real messed up. Especially since I think Scott is avoiding me, probably hanging out with that Jake-guy instead, and I feel fucking tricked, that he maybe lied to me all along.

Davy comes by and wants to talk about the murder, and I go to the park with him, but the fuzz have closed the area around the fountain and one stands there watching, making sure no one gets close enough to see anything. Only there ain't anything to see, what I can tell. No blood or nothing, even if we heard he got stabbed.

"That's where it happened," Davy says, almost excited.

I smoke a lot and haven't eaten for days, 'cause I'm not hungry. I tell Davy I need to go home, that I don't feel so great, and we split ways. But I don't go home, I search for another pay phone, and this time he _needs _to pick up. I really need to talk to him, ask if I did something wrong, if it's maybe 'cause I told him I dropped out that he don't want anything to do with me anymore.

The signals go by and by and my stomach clenches painfully. I slam the receiver down, then lift it again, punching in the number hard. I don't need a note anymore, I have the phone number in my head, but what if I have it wrong? Maybe that's why he don't pick up? Maybe I should hang up and go home and check.

"_Hello?_"

I get so surprised I almost drop the receiver. It's his pa answering, I think, but he sounds weird. I fucking hate when one of his parents are picking up, even if they never give me any trouble, but this time I feel more relieved that someone picked up at all.

"Scott there?" I ask.

"_Who is this?_"

"Curly. I really need to talk to Scott."

His pa don't answer.

"If he don't wanna talk to me, just tell him it's just for a minute," I almost plead. There is some sound in the background, like someone is putting the phone down, but I can still hear someone talking so at least they didn't hang up. I wait, expecting Scott to pick up, but it ain't him when I finally hear someone getting back.

"_Hello?_" It's another male voice, but I have no idea of who it is.

"Scott there?" I say, almost desperate now.

"_Are you a friend of the family?_" he asks, voice thick.

"I just wanna talk to Scott!"

"_There was an accident._"

"What?" I grip the receiver tighter. Try to ignore the worry staring to rise, the sudden pain in my chest. An accident don't mean it has to be Scott who's hurt. It can be his ma or something.

"_I'm real sorry, but Scott passed away in a car accident this Thursday. Are you a friend of his? I can -"_

I hang up.

xXx

I gasp for breath, double over, hands clutched over my stomach_,_ squeezing my eyes shut, my head buzzing.

xXx

I don't know how I get out of the phone booth. Don't know how I end up outside a closed liquor store. I stare at the bottles in the window, my eyes stinging, my face flushed.

I know what I need. I need to get drunk, get high, get away. Need to scream, slam my arms through the window. I feel desperate to numb it, the pain searing through my body, the words clawing inside me, ripping me to pieces, the voice repeating over and over and over.

_Scott passed away in a car accident this Thursday._

But he didn't! I didn't wait for him all Saturday and Sunday and today and he didn't come 'cause he's dead. He didn't come 'cause he couldn't.

He ain't dead 'cause he can't be. I need him. I _need him._

My head is spinning, spinning, spinning. My whole body is hurting. It hurts so much I don't know what to do.

I kick at the window. Hard. Harder.

Desperately.

My eyes sting worse. My breaths won't come out normally.

_I need to get drunk_.

It's a fucking joke! I call him back tomorrow and it's a fucking _joke_!

I kick at the window again and it finally shatters, glass raining down around me, the window broken just like me.

**The End**

* * *

_I hope you don't hate me now... no happy ending :(  
_

_It wasn't easy to write this, but I had it planned from the beginning. Sometimes I have thought about changing my mind, but I couldn't - the story starts with this and had to end with this. Curly's second time in juvie was for breaking into a liquor store, and after the first time, he wouldn't risk going back for "nothing"._

_Thank you all who have read this story and a special thanks to you who have reviewed! Thank you so much for your support, you are the best! :)_


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